


The Bleeding Door

by miniwrath (leviathan_wrath)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chantry critical, Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gore, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's One Weird Ride, It's on a Chapter by Chapter Basis, Major Original Character(s), Mystery, Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Original Female Character, POV Original Male Character, Psychological Torture, Rivalmance, Slow Burn, Somewhat Anders Critical, Thrown into Thedas, Torture, Vaginal Sex, WTF Plot, sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 352,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathan_wrath/pseuds/miniwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm dead. Well, I'm Mina Solis, actually, but I'm also very much dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead and gone. But the problem is, I didn't exactly stay dead and… Wait. Is that a dragon?" </p><p>Not everything is as it seems. Follow Mina Solis as she attempts to navigate the political battlefield that is Kirkwall all while trying to annoy her stuffy apostate boss and keep everyone from finding out her macabre origins. Oh, and figure out exactly why she ended up in Thedas in the first place. Priorities, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead & Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a glance at the tags will tell you what to expect: Heavy-handed angst, quite possibly the world's most obnoxious protag, gore galore, canon-typical violence, slow burn romance, rivals to friends to lovers trope, and eventual vanilla het smut. Honestly, this whole fic is pure cringe and I thank y'all for reading it. You've nerves of steel.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this! As writing is one of my only hobbies, this is/was a blast to write. Also, here's some lovely [fan art](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Mina-from-The-Bleeding-Door-336760745) by the amazing LittleBlackSparrow! They made this a few years back and I still really appreciate it!
> 
> More recently, the very generous angelbeets [commissioned fanart](http://onceuponapirate.tumblr.com/post/169983749672/mina-solis-and-garrett-hawke-from-the-the-bleeding) for this fic from [ drisrt](http://drisrt.tumblr.com/). Thanks so much!

  **01\. Dead & Gone**

I admit that I've never really known pain. I've had paper-cuts, sure. One time I even fell off of a stage and nicked my forehead. And my cat, Mr. Chubby, makes sure to acquaint me with the sting of sharp kitty claws on a daily basis; but I haven't ever broken a bone or cut myself with glass shards or _anything_ involving a rather high magnitude of pain. We aren't intimately acquainted, pain and I. Knowing this, you can't really blame me for the unearthly howl that escapes me when the blade slides soundlessly into my gut.

_It's sharp._

Not the blade, no. That's given. But it's the surreal feeling I'm thinking about. Sharp but not quick, like pulling off a bandage. It's lasting, like pulling off some cheapo off-brand bandage from Wal-Mart that has too much adhesive to where it rips off a bit of your flesh. It seems to burn, hot and bright, for an eternity. I can feel the blade, so foreign in my flesh, as it squirms around like a metal serpent at its owner's behest. This uncomfortable feeling- compounded with the pain- rips a scream from my throat.

My scream is fleeting, though. One quick yowl of pain that leaves my throat aching and raw, and then it's done. I don't think I've ever screamed so loudly before in my entire life. I guess today is just a day of firsts for me: my first mugging, my first stabbing, and my first real scream of agony. I'll have to mark this day on my calendar when I'm done. _If_ I'm ever done.

But despite the pain, I almost want to laugh. Somehow, I find a millisecond of time to allot to mulling over my own stupidity. I had boldly looked my roommate and best friend in the face and snorted, "What's the worst that can happen?" when she had uncertainly pointed out the late hour, ginger brows furrowed and blue eyes narrowed. Idiot. Not Cheyenne. _Me_. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.

Labored grunts fill the air as adrenaline burns its way through my veins. Shock gives way to anger as my brain decides that it's far too late for flight and now I must buck up and fight. Hands grapple for control of the blade; my thin fingers intertwine in a marvelous dance with the skilled fingers of my assailant. Twenty digits, all drenched in boiling blood, slip against the hilt as our eyes lock.

Brown meets hazel in a cacophony of panicked thought and my mind clears in one blissful moment as I think: _My, he has such beautiful eyes._ Dangerous eyes, more like. It looks like he's Asian, probably Japanese given the current demographic ratio in the neighborhood- Not now! Though his appearance is neither here nor there, I find myself fixated on just that. Drinking him in because I know he's the last thing I'll ever see. His almond-shaped eyes are the color of sunlit moss. Straight black lashes frame them and in their gorgeous depths I see panic. 

_At least I'm not the only one._

A painful jerk pulls me from my thoughts and my teeth gnash together. The feel of surgically straightened teeth closing a breath away from my tongue makes my heart leap. It's almost funny how I'm worried about biting my tongue when I have a knife in my stomach. Priorities, right? My lips pull back to bare my teeth as primal fear clouds my mind. It can't end like this… Can it?

My fingers curl around the handle of the blade as his nails drag painfully across my knuckles, leaving a burning trail- just more blood to add to the steadily growing puddle at our feet. We're both covered in it from our hands to our arms and even down our fronts. Of course, it's not surprising that blood drenches _my_ front since _I'm_ the one with the knife in me. My footing slips for the briefest moment and he takes full advantage, shoving his weight into me so my back presses against the clunky metal machine that vibrates with churning water.

LoadStar is most certainly imprinted on my lower back like some hilarious, makeshift tattoo as my spine creaks backward. One more forceful push and I lose the battle, fingers falling away from the blade to brace against the washer; splayed out on the off-white surface and dripping with red fluid. Lightning explodes before my eyes and I half-expect to hear thunder. The hammering of my heart could be mistaken for thunder, though, as my mouth goes dry and my veins cease to burn with adrenaline. An icy arc curves up from my abdomen to smash against my lower right rib. It's jarring. I feel the shock of it in my teeth and my mind buzzes like a swarm of angry bees.

_This can't be happening!_

Something slippery and thick attempts to escape from the gaping, backwards J-shaped wound as a strangled cry of terror falls from my lips. My hands fly from the washer to cradle my stomach. Everything, once so hot and fiery and full of electricity, turns cold and dull and dead.

The steel leaves me, trailing red heat as the man stumbles back and away from me like I'm the living embodiment of the plague. His back slams against hot metal with a loud thud and I'm momentarily distracted by the bright colors being tossed around behind his head of straight black hair. I catch a glimpse of one of my favorite shirts: the one with my college mascot on it. A red cougar's snarling face whirls by.

_No…_

His beautiful eyes, so wide now, stare down at me. I realize he's much taller than me, but that's no great feat considering I'm barely five feet and three inches short. Those mossy eyes dart from my face to the little piece of metal shaking in his hands and back again. He shivers, face haunted, and then he's gone; leaving me all alone.

Little silver coins still dance and wobble on the red splattered tiles and I realize that all of this has lasted only a few seconds and not days, months, or even years. I watch as a few of them skitter away from me, leaving crimson trails in their wake as they flee. My fingers interlock against my stomach, quite literally holding myself in, as I try to keep them from shaking with the painful reality of my own mortality. Fear ices over my brain.

_It's so cold._

Slowly, I attempt to lower myself to the floor but my knees give out almost immediately and I fall in a heap of blood and despair. I start to cry but force myself to stop because the motions hurt too much. My sluggish mind tries to crawl towards some solution, some saving grace, but it's too late for any sane person to be out on these streets and my phone is at home on the charger. Frustrated, I cry despite the searing ache. The pain stops.

_It doesn't hurt._


	2. Blood Phoenix

**02\. Blood Phoenix**

An aching chill greets me when I awake. It makes my bones creak and my skin crawl; it prickles my fingers and nips at my nose. I can't help the violent shiver that wracks my body as my mind sluggishly attempts to figure out my surroundings... or lack thereof. Everything is so dark, so inky black that I can't even see my hand as I wave it in front of my face. At least I _think_ I'm waving it in front of my face. I wave extra hard to be sure.

_And that smell!_

It's like a freezer full of bad meat and sour milk; I have to choke back a violent fit of dry heaving, eyes watering. Je-sus! How can the air be so cold yet feel so stuffy with that terrible musk? Shaking my head, I can feel that I'm sprawled out on my back on some rough, porous surface that rubs my skin raw and snags greedily at my hair. I slowly push myself into a seated position. This all takes far more effort than it should.

My limbs are stiff and numb, moving awkwardly like I've been immobile for ages or I'm a newborn fawn. And I actually have to grab my own legs and pull them up into an awkward bend before I can even attempt to sit upright. Then the cold _really_ hits me and I realize that I'm feeling cold in places that I really shouldn't.

Hands shift frantically across gooseflesh, searching for at least a flimsy pair of undergarments only to find that yes, I am indeed naked- and very much so. I screw my eyes shut at that revelation (more so at the thought that someone might find me like this). Heat pulses along my cold body in one tremendous blush, offering me the briefest reprieve from the chill. I really need to try to figure out where I am.

_Did I get totally plastered at some party?_

Ah… ha ha. Not possible. I'm what the kids call "lame as hell." Yeah, I have some older friends and I occasionally get them to buy me booze in exchange for some proofreading on their essays, but I drink at home and only ever with Cheyenne where my chances of getting charged with underage drinking are slim. And public drinking? I always stick by my rule at parties to have one courtesy drink that I nurse until I make my grand exit. That's it. Nothing to get hammered over.

_Unless someone spiked it._

Okay, but the likelihood of that _is_ …? The parties I go to are usually pretty mellow with only close friends and the close friends of those friends. So if anyone ever tried to pull some shit they'd get jumped by half the party. And who would be able to spike my drink when I always keep my beverages under close watch like a lioness with her cubs? Gosh, and all of this makes me realize that I'm such a spaz about safety and I never, ever let my guard down… But why does that seem like a lie, now?

A pitiful mewl of pain from somewhere across the vast emptiness rips me from my thoughts on party safety and causes my heart to stop. The low timbre sends alarm bells blazing in my mind and I struggle to figure out why the voice sounds so damn familiar. It's clearly a man in here… Dear God, did I hook up with some equally wasted partygoer and pass out? If so, Chey will never let me live down having to do the walk of shame back to our apartment in Montrose. I need answers and I need them now!

"Wh-Who's there?" I demand rather weakly. I'm immediately ashamed by the hesitance in my voice as it echoes back to me. I couldn't sound more pathetically helpless if I tried! And that's saying something, considering I'm an aspiring actress who prides herself on impersonations. I decide to try again and aim for the strong, no-nonsense vibe. "I asked a question. Answer me!" I bark.

I groan immediately after as the sharp pitch of my voice assaults my eardrums. I must be seriously hung-over to feel this level of pain. Ugh. How low have I sunk where I go out and get hammered the night before finals? Do I not care enough about my GPA? Does student loan debt really mean nothing to me if I'm willing to risk failing and ending up jobless with no means to pay back the state? Oh, gee, here comes a tension headache on top of the hangover.

"What?" The man whimpers in response, "Who are _you_? Did _you_ bring me here?"

He sounds angry and that, weirdly enough, makes me angry. Why does he have a right to be angry with me? I'm not the one who drugged his sorry butt or whatever the heck happened! And who is he to accuse me of taking advantage of him when I'm fairly certain it's the exact opposite? "No, I did _not_ bring you here." I growl, "Wherever _here_ is." I glare about at the darkness. "Where are you, anyway? I can't see a damn thing!"

As if these are the magic words, bright balls of light surround me. My eyes burn and I hiss, covering my face with my arm as I try hard not to sneeze. When I finally lower my arm, I see that I'm in a rather large, square shaped room made of gray, lichen laced stones. The ceiling seems to go up to the heavens and the walls are lined with burning torches, casting a warm light onto everything within reach. And the source of the horrible smell becomes abundantly clear.

My hands slap across my mouth as I scream in terror. I'm surrounded by blood and gore and viscera. The sight of torn flesh makes me squeeze my eyes shut in the childish hope that it will all go away. Mounds upon mounds of dismembered bodies and bloody limbs are scattered about the large room. They're all stacked up roughly three feet tall and there are just so many of them that I can only guess hundreds of people were killed to make those pyramids of flesh and bone.

I realize that I've been repeating a mantra of "oh shit, oh shit" into my cupped hands and can only conclude that I've really screwed someone over in my life and now Jigsaw is making me pay the price. Because I'm going to end up in one of those piles, right? Why the hell else would I be here? The sound of shuffling makes me squeak like a mouse and my eyes dart across the room to see a man, just as naked as me, with shaggy black hair and terror in his eyes.

_Stop._

There's a buzzing in my brain. It starts off soft and steadily grows louder and fiercer until I can feel it all through my body. Thunder rumbles in my chest, hammering so fervently that my ears feel like they might burst in a shower of blood. The carnage around me fades to black and the strange man becomes the only thing I can see.

I focus on his eyes. They're so breathtakingly beautiful that it should be a sin. They're almond shaped and a deep, foggy green with flecks of honeyed brown; like sunlit moss. Icy pain arcs across my abdomen and stops abruptly at my ribs, ripping a gasp from my throat. I look down at myself, at the olive skin marred by a ridge of flesh that puckers into an awkward J shape and I jump as an image of ripped flesh and pouring blood flashes before my eyes.

_Wait._

I wasn't at a party last night. No, I went to the Laundromat late in the evening because I had put off doing laundry for a couple of weeks and I was tired of wearing jogging shorts and t-shirts to class. I wanted to wear something comfy and not smelly for my lit final the next day. I had gone by myself because Cheyenne was busy cramming for her anatomy final and I had to leave my phone behind because it had died in the middle of a heated conversation with my mom. Died…

_God, no._

My hands start to shake as I watch the man look around at the bloody mess. I can't tell if I'm shaking out of fear or anger. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. There's a peppering of dark stubble across his chin and his dark eyebrows are furrowed. Everything about him is dark. But those eyes are so bright. Hazel meets brown in a din of confusing thoughts and my mind clears for a petrifying moment as we say in unison, "You!"

_My killer._

I'm staring into the face of my killer. How is this even possible? I'm certain, positively sure, that I died on the floor of some dirty old Laundromat in Houston where I wouldn't be found for a few hours. I had bled out like a stuck pig, crying for the loss of my own life, unable to call for help as I curled up in a pool of my own blood. I had been gutted. Flayed like a fish. I had _died_.

Yet here I am, breathing in stagnant air and gazing into the wide-eyed face of my killer as we sit across from each other, naked as the day we were born. He, gawking and ashen as if he's just seen a ghost, confusion etched across his face. Me, reeling from the revelation of my death, one more big shock away from dying all over again. We don't say anything. There's nothing we can say. The air is thick and it's not just because of the stench of rot and decay that surrounds us.

My mind goes into overdrive, trying to piece together this impossible puzzle and figure out just what the hell happened. But as I think of every scenario possible I can only come to one conclusion, and once I manage to regain control of my vocal cords I say it aloud and with as much venom as I can muster in my shell-shocked state. "This is _your_ fault!"

He's quick to react, " _My_ fault? How exactly is any of this my fault?"

"I-I don't really know, exactly. But I do know that you killed me! Or, maybe you didn't since I'm… well… alive." I flounder. "So, I probably didn't die and you took me back to your evil person, secret lair that looks like some freak tribute to _Jeepers Creepers_ because you're a raving lunatic who stabs random people who are just doing their damn laundry!"

My words converge into one heated, breathless mess that leaves us both confused. But he seems to regain his senses quick enough to shoot me a death glare and struggle into a kneeling position. His hands are shaking as he braces them on his lean, heavily tattooed legs and I'm suddenly reminded of how naked we both are. My hands fly up to pull my knees to my chest and blood rushes to my cheeks as I avert my gaze.

_Try focusing on something a little less incriminating like… a dead body. Nice._

When he's standing in his tall, nude glory, he says, "I know I killed you, I admit that I did and I know that no amount of apologizing will negate that fact. But I have no idea where we are. My last memory is running down the street and-" he pauses and shakes his head, "and then everything abruptly goes black. I can't recall anything after that."

His honesty shocks me. I half expected him to deny killing me. I was actually hoping that he _would_ deny it and that this is all just some dream and I'm in the hospital, seriously tripping on some hardcore pain meds. My heart breaks a little. This is all real. "Well…" I whisper and he inclines his shaggy head to hear me, "We're both alive. And this is definitely real, which means either I'm really lucky or we're both really screwed."

"How are we screwed?"

I scoff, "Uh, have you looked around you? Last I checked, waking up in a room full of dead bodies isn't a good sign."

His mouth twists into an ugly frown. "You're right. We have to get out of here. There has to be an exit…"

"We?" I'm scrambling to get to my knees but am rooted to the spot when he fixes those serpentine eyes on me. The man is a human basilisk.

"Yes, _we_. I know we're hardly friends, but I'm not going to be the reason you die… _again._ " He winces at the last word, but not in the same way that I do.

"Well, aren't I the lucky one?" I chuckle humorlessly. My legs wobble dangerously as I stand, arms crossed firmly across my chest as my eyes search for an exit. I absolutely refuse to walk around this place and risk stepping on someone's remains. The smell is driving me insane and I wonder if I'm going to end up like one of the poor saps on the floor when a fragile voice enters the room.

"Ah, splendid! I see both our guests have awoken. I am Lord Carrow, your most gracious host."

_Lord? What is this, Medieval Times?_

Eyes dart around for the owner of the voice but I can see no one but my murderer. When I fix my gaze on him, my heart freezes to find that his eyes are locked on something behind me. Or more like _someone_ behind me. The muscles in his tattooed arms flex as he clenches his fists. I hesitate to turn but will myself to anyway. Besides, it's not like reality will pause for me while I try and muster up the nerve to face it.

Before I can move, a clammy hand locks onto my bare shoulder and I bite back a girlish scream. No use embarrassing myself more than my nudity already does for me, right? I'm whirled around with surprising force and find myself careening into the arms of what I can only assume is a man.

He looks like a skeleton wrapped in pasty white skin and his skin looks as fragile as tissue paper. In fact, it's about as translucent as tissue paper since, even in the dim light, I can see almost every blue and green vein in his arms and face.

Sunken blue eyes stare down into my face and a humorless smile stretches across thin, cracked lips. Lord Carrow's nose looks as though it has been broken several times and has not _once_ been set correctly, his cheeks are gaunt and his face is long. Corn silk hair hangs down on either side of his face like a shimmery curtain and it's probably his most attractive feature. Well, his _only_ attractive feature but I'm trying and failing at not being a _total_ asshole.

"Hello?" My voice is soft and submissive, a complete embarrassment.

"Hello, my dear. May I ask your name? It seems unfair that you should know my name yet I know not yours."

_Is this man British?_

I plaster on a confused smile and reply at length, "My name is Mina Solis."

Actually it's _Wilhelmina_ but I prefer to introduce myself as Mina to avoid any horrible nicknames like Will or Billy... Or _Willy_. My brother and mom call me Billy and they're probably my least favorite people in the world for it. Ah, well, my brother could never be my least favorite person, but that's beside the point. I suppose my mom thought it was a pretty enough name but I absolutely abhor it. It's the feminine form of Wilhelm. And who the hell names their kid _Wilhelm_?

Carrow's eyes lift from my face to settle somewhere over my head. "And you?"

"Kiriyama. Steven Kiriyama."

"Such colorful names," Carrow chortles but I don't find anything funny. "Fitting for such colorful creatures." At that, he threads two long fingers through my hair and pulls a lock of it forward for closer inspection. I glance at the pale green color from the corner of my eye and frown. Although it's the product of a lost bet, I really should have dyed it lavender. But after a serious bleaching session that led to me having to cut off six inches of my hair, I couldn't afford processing it even further. It still has the texture of straw but I admit that the pretty green color is quite fetching when I wear black.

"Thank you!" I beam.

The man is strange. Beyond strange. Couple his weirdness with the fact that we're standing amongst unspeakable carnage and I find myself willing to jump through hoops to be polite as long as it keeps me from ending up in one of the piles of bodies. He seems to appreciate my chipper disposition, though, and beckons Kiriyama forward. "Come, come. I'll show you my home and your rooms. Then, come supper time, you must regale me with stories of you world."

_Oh. That doesn't sound too ba- What?_


	3. Magic & Serpents

  **03\. Magic & Serpents**

"So, you're an entertainer? How fascinating!"

I admit that I'm a bit (a lot) vain and I have a tendency to be an attention whore. I like to act out for attention (good or bad) and say the most scandalous things to get a reaction. I was the obnoxious class clown growing up and slowly evolved, or devolved, into a studious theater undergrad. So, Carrow's endless fawning over me isn't exactly a bad thing in my book. But when he makes this strange face it sort of kills it, even for a narcissist like me.

It's like the face a sadistic scientist would make when examining a particularly interesting specimen in a campy sci-fi thriller. There's hunger in his eyes but for what, I don't know. His thin lips pull into this too-polite smile that only comes from the breeding of a perfect gentleman (or from a sociopath) and his thin fingers steeple together below his pointed chin. And I want nothing more than to go running and screaming out of this damn mansion every time he does it.

"Oh, it's not _that_ great," I chuckle as I wave him off like a bashful little lady, ignoring the urge to throw my bowl at him as a distraction and bolt.

We're sitting at an overly large table made of this white wood that I've never seen before. The grain is sort of gray and it's completely smooth to the touch- totally beautiful and probably disgustingly expensive for a pleb like me. There are several extravagant place settings at the table and it seems a bit comical that the three of us- Kiriyama, Carrow, and I- are spread out amongst fourteen seats.

I can only guess that it's late in the evening judging by the lack of light streaming in through the windows, since Carrow seems to not believe in turning on the lights. In fact, I didn't see a single ceiling fan or lamp in his entire home. And his _home_ is actually a mansion made up of six rooms. At least that's how many I counted on our way here after dressing in very cult-like white robes. But hey, clothing is clothing.

_Is he Amish?_

Drumming my fingers on the table, I fix Kiriyama with a hard look before smiling at Carrow. "But enough about me! We should really talk about Kiriyama; he's so _very_ interesting."

_Yes, he's a killer. You two might get along, being psychotic and all._

Carrow slowly turns his steely blue eyes onto Kiriyama and the young man shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. He purposely won't meet our host's eyes, preferring to stare into the thick, pork flavored broth that is our dinner. It's not that bad but it could use a bit of salt. The stew, I mean. But food is food and I'm surprisingly hungry despite this all-around screwed up situation. It's a little disturbing that I can find it in me to eat after all that I saw in this blond lunatic's dungeon of horrors.

"I'm... a business man of sorts. I procure and sell certain items to interested parties," Kiriyama murmurs and I find my upper lip twitching. So he's a thief who resells stolen goods? Oh, nice to know a man with a decent job ended my life. I would have been furious if he was, oh say, a bag boy at Wal-Mart or a cashier at a 7-11. Or anyone else earning a decent living. What a relief! I'm so happy that I'm trying to stab soup with a spoon!

Carrow's interest is immediately piqued. "Oh, quite mysterious. Do you happen to sell magical artifacts? I have quite a collection myself, if you would care to see?"

I think Kiriyama and I both have a Scooby-Doo moment at the same time. You know, where Scooby makes that stupid questioning noise? Yeah, that. Because who in the hell has magical items? Magic isn't real. Well, my grandma was convinced that a lady down the street was a bruja but there was no evidence. So, either this guy is a lunatic or he's on some hardcore drugs… Which means he  _might_ be a lunatic? Nope. He's definitely a lunatic judging by the contents of his _dungeon_.

Kiriyama is trying desperately to catch my eye but I'm busy chasing a bit of potato with my spoon. There's no way in hell that I'm going to tag along for whatever ride they're going to take on the Crazy Train. No. Way. I'll be polite and accept only if Carrow presses me, but I'm not going to willingly put myself on the line for Kiriyama. Because why the hell should I? The bastard gutted me!

_What do_ I _owe him?_

"That sounds nice," Kiriyama grinds out when he realizes I'm not going to help him, "but I would like it if you could answer a few of my questions, first. That is, if you don't mind."

Carrow smiles tightly. "Of course."

Suddenly the "cozy" atmosphere of the formal dining hall chills and I find myself glancing warily at the several decorative suits of armor around the room. Everything seems to come to life, even the shadows. The light from the grandiose candelabra in the middle of the table flickers and I hold my breath. Goosebumps spread across my arms and the hair on the back of my neck rises. Everything feels cold and the air is thin.

I'm obviously not the only one who feels the dramatic shift in the atmosphere, because Kiriyama clears his throat loudly, as if steeling himself, before diving headfirst into his interrogation. "Who exactly are you, Lord Carrow?"

The man smiles, a genuine one that reaches his eyes. "Dermot Carrow IV, last of the illustrious Carrow line. We were in the exporting business, so we made a lot of money, but never had a bit of magic in our blood until I turned out to be a mage! Mother was ever so _proud_ ," he says a bit forcefully, "but I wouldn't be sent to the Circle of Magi, so I killed them all; the whole family, even mother's cat. It was surprisingly easy, you know."

The potato in my stew isn't very interesting now.

"You're a mage? As in, you do magic?" Kiriyama asks incredulously.

"Why, yes! Of course! How else would I have been able to summon you?" Carrow laughs heartily.

"Su-? What?" My spoon falls into the stew with a loud plunk and a splash as I gawk.

Kiriyama doesn't spare me a glance, eyes glued onto Carrow as if he's the most interesting and most dangerous thing in the world. And he probably is. Carrow fixes me with a condescending look as he sighs, " _Do_ be careful, my dear. My great grandfather had to slay several Sylvans to make this table. Oh! Try saying that three times fast: slay several Sylvans, slay several Sylvans, slay several Sylvans!" He frowns, "Actually, it was much easier than I thought. How disappointing."

"Prove it," Kiriyama says in the most deathly calm tone I've ever heard.

Carrow blinks in genuine bewilderment. "Prove it? But, dear man, I just did. Slay several Sylvans, slay sev-"

"Not that," Kiriyama interrupts abruptly, brow furrowed in frustration. "Prove that you're a mage." Er. This really isn't a good idea. Carrow's probably going to pull a multicolored handkerchief from his sleeve and expect us to sing his praises and, judging by Kiriyama's murderous expression, Carrow will most likely end up drowned in his soup. Y'know, 'cause Kiriyama isn't above killing people and all. But if Carrow really _is_ a mage…

_No! No, don't entertain the thought! It's impossible!_

A bony hand comes up to cover Carrow's thin mouth as he giggles. With a quick flick of his wrist the candelabra erupts into flames. I try to contain a scream of surprise but it escapes me, making my face heat up. Before our eyes the once elegant fixture turns into nothing more than a large puddle of gold and wax. Surprisingly enough, the flames leave no scorch marks on the pretty ivory table.

It's a long moment before anyone says anything, but it seems to stretch on forever and I fear Carrow might take offense and do to us what he did to the innocent candelabra. "Marvelous!" I laugh breathlessly, "Quite a show. I'm always one for a good show, you know."

Carrow gives me a smug look before returning his gaze to Kiriyama. "Any other questions, my dear man?"

"Yes, actually." Kiriyama breathes heavily through his nose, "How did you summon us and why did you do so? For what purpose?"

Our gracious host actually takes his time in answering the question. I can feel Kiriyama's gaze on me and I look over to find urgency in his eyes. Yes. Yes, this is looking very bad. And judging from the uncomfortable feeling in my gut, I can tell that it's just going to get much, much worse. Damn me and my rotten luck!

"Well, you two saw the people downstairs in the dungeon. It took me _ages_ to come up with enough living sacrifices to finally perform the summoning ritual, but it was well worth the wait. Not only was I able to summon one powerful demon from another realm other than the Fade, but I summoned _two_! Absolutely splendid wouldn't you agree?" Carrow beams.

I answer the rhetorical question with a tremulous, "Yes."

The blond nods. "Yes. You _see_ , I have a bit of a bone to pick with the blasted Circle of Magi here in Ferelden; they will _not_ stop sending letters inquiring after my late father, and after twenty years it has become quite a bother. Apparently they realized after several years that father's signature was being forged despite my use of his seal, and they've even sent Templars here! _Templars_!" A murderous expression flits across his face before a twisted smirk pulls at his lips. "Of course, I put them to use in the ritual. No use wasting good blood. But that's beside the point. I need your help, which is why I summoned you two."

By the time his spiel is over my jaw is somewhere on the floor and Kiriyama doesn't look any better; just with an added scowl. Demons? Last I checked I was 100% human. I'm almost afraid to ask, but I know that I have to. "What do you need us to do?" I ask cautiously.

Carrow looks downright giddy. "I want to destroy it! With my blood magic and your combined powers, we can wipe the Circle clean off of Thedas! Oh, it will be so fantastic to finally be rid of the damned place! At least _here_ in Ferelden, mind you, I have no quarrel with the others... yet. I cannot wait to see what powers you two have; though I was shocked at first by how human you behave." His nearly nonexistent eyebrows furrow. "Do all demons from your realm have occupations like you do?"

I think my jaw is now in the dungeon with all of the bodies. And Kiriyama's smooth response sends my jaw shooting straight into the center of the earth. "We just decided to take more inconspicuous forms. Though, Mina always has to stand out. It's a blessing and a curse." He chuckles deeply, "But having an occupation is optional."

Realization dawns on Carrow and he clasps his hands together. "You're a type of Desire demon, aren't you dear?"

_Desire demon? Seriously? Like a succubus?_

My eye twitches but I simply wave him off. If Kiriyama can be smooth, then so can I. "No, Lord Carrow. I'm not. Take another guess." I grin deviously.

He hums in contemplation, "You two must be quite strong since I can't determine what you are. How fascinating! You know, this is my first time dealing with strong demons such as yourselves, I've only ever bargained with the occasional Rage and Desire demon, and they're quite dull."

Kiriyama and I exchange a bewildered glance across the table before I shift my attention back onto Carrow. This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I'm waiting to wake up at any moment but everything feels so real. "So now that you summoned us, when will we attack?" I ask.

_So I can make a mad dash for freedom once we step foot outside this mansion of madness!_

"Very soon! I just recently heard through the grapevine that the Circle is in turmoil, so it is only a matter of time before we strike! I fancy myself a bit of a tactician, you know."

"Right." Kiriyama deadpans. "But there's much to discuss in terms of repayment. Your sacrifice does not entirely please us."

_Oh, damn._

* * *

I'm not going to wake up from this. I know that now. I knew it the moment Kiriyama reached out and gripped my upper arm with enough force to elicit a pained whimper from me. I knew it the moment he looked into my eyes with such seriousness and despair when I recoiled from him and into Carrow. The blond man had chuckled, commented on the odd behavior of demons, and then asked us to join him in his study to map out a battle plan.

_That map… I've never seen any place like what was on that map._

As I pace back and forth in the dim room, my temporary bedroom- at least, I hope that it's temporary- I try to get my head on straight. The room is much too large with a huge, barred window that permits the moon's eerie light to illuminate the space. Overstuffed, extravagant furniture made of wood and silky, dusty cloth casts creepy shadows that make me shy away towards the window. I look out at the vast, wooded emptiness below.

The South Reach, that's where we are, just outside the Brecilian Forest. Carrow had pointed it out on a map, excitedly dragging his finger northwest to some place called Lake Calenhad where he said the Circle is located. Kiriyama had stood behind us, hands clenched at his sides in frustration that I refused to go and _negotiate_ the terms of our servitude with him and Carrow. I had adamantly refused to enter into such negotiations with a prim smile on my face and hellfire in my eyes.

_I'm not serving anyone. So, why should I negotiate anything?_

I had nodded interestedly and asked pointless questions like "What's the weather like here?" whilst looking at every city marked on the map. Denerim, Lothering, and Gwaren; those are the places closest to this mansion out in the middle of scenic nowhere- the perfect location for a psychopath to pluck people off the roads with authorities being none the wiser. I had asked why the estate wasn't located closer to the water since the Carrow family was into exporting, and Carrow had simply replied that this wasn't the main estate.

"The Carrow estate is in Amaranthine," he'd stated loftily. "This is the vacation home. We have one in Orlais and Antiva, as well."

"When do we attack?" Kiriyama asked tersely, interrupting the small talk.

"In a week's time." Was the swift reply.

"So soon?" I asked.

"Of course, my dear! The Circle is in chaos; they are weak and disoriented. Now is the perfect time to strike!" He had glided away from the map on the table towards a bookcase and pulled out a hefty tome. "I've researched a few spells; some that practically go hand-in-hand with the summoning one I used for you two. This book is sort of like a manual for blood magic. It's ever so handy!"

I shifted behind the table uncomfortably. "Why are you telling us this?" I had asked this without really expecting an answer. To me, it was just typical villain monologuing. I had done much the same in a few acting classes but… that was an act. This? This was and is insanity.

"Because, my dear, this is what I will use to destroy the Circle. I will be unstoppable! No one will ever disturb me again with annoying letters and search parties!"

I stopped asking questions after that and remained silent as he escorted me to my room and locked the door behind me. It's too soon to resist. Too soon to act on any violent, primal instinct to escape and survive. I have to repeat this in my head and under my breath several times as I begin pacing again, eyes locked on the lush trees not fifty feet away. I feel like a caged animal ready to maul the face off of the next person to open the door. But that would be reckless. Stupid.

My breathing hitches as a tremor runs through my body. As much as I try and fight it, I can't stop thinking about my mom and my baby brother, Michael. Well, he's no baby at fourteen, but I will always see him as the little boy whose diapers I changed. I worry. My mom isn't the most reliable person. Guilt poisons my mind for leaving him with the overgrown child who can't pay bills on time to save her life despite actually having the means to do so... Unlike my grandparents.

My conscience aches like bad joints during a storm. God, my _grandparents_. Though my piddly earnings from various odd jobs and part-time jobs hardly put a dent in their collective debt, I still contributed to that household even though I was living in an apartment with my best friend. And Chey! Sweet Baby Jesus the ramifications of my sudden death are seemingly endless. Chey has rent to pay and my grandparents, too. My uncle helps, yeah, but...

_But it's not like I left them all on purpose!_

Tears fall and I press my forehead against the cool metal of the bars. The air burns my lungs as I take deep breaths to keep from falling apart. I still can't believe that this is all happening even though I know deep down that it's all real. Was I really killed by a lowlife mugger for what amounted to $2.75 in change? What amounted to one load of laundry washed and dried? And speaking of that lowlife…

_What's Kiriyama_ doing _?_

Worry eats away at me and I hate it. Why should I worry about the inconsiderate jerk who so callously killed me? But I do, even if it doesn't make any sense. I'd worry for anyone stuck in a room with that nutcase Carrow; the blond wonder, who would kill countless people in order not to receive what amounts to junk mail. He'd probably go ape on some poor Jehovah's Witnesses or fly off the handle if he received a flier from Bed Bath & Beyond.

I chuckle at the thought but stop immediately and scold myself. Now isn't the time for my twisted humor. Sighing, I drag myself over to the bed covered with dusty pillows and blankets. The intricate threadwork depicting fields and oceans are moth-eaten and musty. It's obvious that this room hasn't been used in ages when I flop down on the hard mattress and a cloud of dust flies up before drifting back down onto me. I cover my nose and sneeze.

"Bless you."

Bolting upright, I stare wide eyed at the figure illuminated in the doorway. At first I think it's Carrow, since he's the one who locked the door in the first place. But then my eyes adjust to the bright light of the torch in the person's hand. Instead of long blond hair I see short, shaggy black hair. Instead of steel blue eyes I see hazel eyes swirling with emotion. Instead of an expression of cold calculation I see urgency.

"Kiriyama?"

His hair is partially in his face but I still catch a glimpse of green rimmed with gold. Breath catches, a hitch in the awful silence, when I spot the glaring red stain on the right sleeve of his robe. Suddenly his robes seem too white, glaringly so, against that oh-so-familiar shade of red. My mind reels, going back to a time not too long ago when I was curled up on cracked linoleum tile in a puddle of cooling warmth.

_He strikes again!_

"Kiriyama!"

"Quiet." He glowers, before continuing on in his annoyingly even voice, "I didn't kill the sick bastard, I just knocked him out. And it's not like he deserves _mercy_ , so please spare me any lectures on morality. At this rate, I highly doubt you think I have any morals, anyway."

"But there's blood on you!"

He gives me an annoyed look and steps over the threshold, bathing the entire room in orange light. Shadows jump out of his way as he walks towards me. I can't keep my eyes off of the blood on his arm, but then I notice a dark sliver in the middle of the stain that glistens almost black in the light. A light bulb switches on in my head.

"He hurt you?" I sound more concerned than I care to let on as I stand and go to him, meeting him in the middle of the room. Immediately my hands are tugging at the sticky fabric, peeling it back from his skin to reveal a superficial gash. Breathing a sigh of relief, I look up questioningly into his eyes. His cheeks are a bit pink. Or maybe it's just the light. I frown.

_Don't get any ideas, weirdo._

"We were talking about our 'terms of service' when I made my move," he explains. "He had a dagger and when I went to punch him he got my arm." Kiriyama sighs and flexes his arm, "The good news is he can't fight worth a damn using brute strength alone. Knocked him out cold but we still need to hurry and go. Now, preferably."

My heart pounds in my throat. Escape? So soon? I expected to be here at least until the end of the week. Maybe longer if my plan to ditch when Carrow took us to the Circle fell through. Steven Kiriyama is clearly a man of action whereas I am one who will sit back and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike… Usually that method suits me, but right now all I want to do is throw my arms around the dark haired thug and kiss him.

"Kiri-"

"No." He holds up a hand. "It's all business until we get out of here. If you have anything to say, it had better be about escaping."

My eye twitches but I nod. "Okay? We need supplies. It looked like the closest town is a couple of days away from here."

He sneers, "You mean the cities on the map?"

" _Yeah_?" I scowl, not liking his tone.

"Right. As if that was all real." Kiri snorts, "Do you really believe that nonsense? That map? The candelabra? It's all _fake_. Just a bunch of parlor tricks cooked up by some serial killer. It's all a game to him, Mina."

_Is he for real?_

"Kiriyama." I start lowly but quickly become hysterical despite my attempts at remaining levelheaded, "This is all real. How else can you explain it? I died but somehow I'm here, breathing and talking to you! He's magic! It's real!" He glares and jerks his arm out of my grasp. My hands hover for a moment before I drop them, red stained, at my sides. I purse my lips, watching as the light from the flames dance and flicker across his face. Anger, that's what I see, and frustration etched into the harsh planes of his strikingly feminine face.

_That pretty face needs a good slap…_

I shake my head and cross my arms. He seems to take that gesture as me writing him off as hopeless, because his glare intensifies. I'm surprised that I don't shrivel up like a prune and fall over dead with that look, but at least it's better than him actually knowing what I was thinking. "This is all some sick joke," Steven Kiriyama insists, still firmly in denial.

I open my mouth to argue, to point out all the things I've already pointed out and then some. If this is a joke, then how am I alive? I died! How did we end up naked in a dungeon full of dead bodies in the middle of nowhere? No one could have possibly revived me _and_ had the time to abduct Kiriyama unless they had some amazing powers! And candles don't just combust into great balls of fire that melt gold but somehow leave a table undamaged!

I try to say all of this, but as I reach out to literally shake some sense into him, a loud roar causes me to jerk back with a scream lodged in my throat. Hazel eyes widen as Kiriyama whirls around. Behind him, in the doorway, stands a menacing figure that isn't at all human.


	4. Little Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Gore warning and mild body horror warning!** Just thought I'd give you a heads up about the contents of this chapter if that's something that bothers you.

**04\. Little Complications**

"Keep moving!"

Honestly, if I could laugh right now I would. Because that's a stupid order that implies that I actually have a choice. Lungs burning, heart pounding, muscles aching; it takes all of my resolve not to stumble to a halt in exhaustion. But stopping spells death. At least, that's what the black, wraith-like creatures on our heels seem to promise with their outstretched claws.

Their skin- if you can call it that- isn't really black. More like a deep, fathomless purple that reflects murky green in places and stretches like spilled ink across their bulging, hunched over bodies. Hungry red eyes fixate on us; they are truly the stuff of nightmares and I'm surprised that we (mostly me) have managed to evade them for so long. It feels like I've been going at a dead sprint for miles.

Ahead of me, Kiriyama sprints with all the speed and agility of a skilled criminal which brings me mild frustration. His steps are barely audible, or my pounding footfalls simply drown his out- I can't really tell. I feel clumsy compared to him. And if one of us is going to die, it most certainly isn't going to be the undercover Olympian. Besides, I have a bit of a track record for dying horribly, anyway.

_Ugh! I'm dead! I'm gonna trip and they're gonna fall on me like kids with a piñata!_

"Go!" Kiri urges once we come upon a door at the end of the corridor. He throws me into the room and I stumble to a grateful, graceless halt. Kiri slams the door shut and locks it behind us (which seems unnecessary since I don't think those big claws can work a doorknob). The creatures bang on the door and roar ferociously. It's a terrible sound that chills my blood. The door, though made of sturdy wood, won't hold for too long if the extreme groans coming from it are anything to go by as the creatures smash themselves against it.

"Parlor tricks, huh?" I manage to gasp out between my heaving.

Kiriyama glares at me before he crosses the room towards a single, thankfully unbarred window as I glance around at the cloth covered furniture for something to defend myself with. It's dark in here and the only light streaming in is from the window and it's insufficient. I glance about the dimly lit room cautiously. It looks like an old den with grand furniture and a disused fireplace. My eyes linger on the pile of ash and soot before rising and landing on something that sparks hope in my painfully pounding heart.

An old blade, covered in a fine layer of dust, is mounted above the fireplace. It looks like an antique but it's the best I've got. The fancy hilt has been fashioned to look like a bunch of branches, but upon closer inspection I see it's a cluster of ivy ensnaring a small bird at the pommel. The vines burst through the tiny body, pouring from the beak to cover the animal's head and poke through its eyes. I grimace. Talk about a creepy image. It must be the Carrow family crest.

_How fitting._

"Come on!" Kiriyama hisses once he's gauged that we'll survive the fall.

We're three floors up, so there had better be some huge bouncy house just below the window. I snag the sword and rush over towards my irritated companion. His brow furrows and he tentatively steps back when he sees the sword in my hand. I almost slap him for even thinking I'd skewer him. I motion the man forward. "You first," I insist. "If they break through I'll try and keep them back." He opens his mouth to argue but I cut him off, "This isn't the time to start being chivalrous! Just go and I'll be right behind you!"

I'm gifted with one last withering glare before he straddles the windowsill and drops out of sight. He grunts when he lands and I lean out of the window to see him beckon me frantically, illuminated like a specter in the moonlight with his ghostly white robe. Damn. He made that look easy. But I'm not fool enough to believe it's an easy drop. Closing my eyes, I lean back into the mansion and exhale long and loud.

_Shit!_

I wasn't being a martyr when I made him jump first. Truthfully, I didn't want him to see me piss myself since I hate heights and this is _quite_ a drop. It looks like I'm a million feet up and only the splintering sound of wood being battered by vicious beasts can make me crawl onto the windowsill. I'm poised to jump when the door gives way and the doorway explodes in a flash of splinters and multicolored flesh. The monsters are on me before I can even gasp much less propel myself into the air.

My left hand gropes for the ledge as I swing the blade frantically at the ghastly mosh pit before me. The blade is much harder to carry with one hand, but the burning will to live keeps my arm strong. The beasts jump out of the way of the admittedly dull blade like shadows from a flame. One of them screeches as the sword scrapes over its dark skin and I'm momentarily stunned by the shrill sound. Before I can even regain my senses, a gnarled hand shoots forward and claws at me.

I'm sent tumbling through the window with a pathetic squeal as my face and chest erupt in flames. I'm not sure if I'm really on fire or not, but the pain is so intense that I can't bear to open my eyes and find out. Landing doesn't help much, either, and I'm positive Kiriyama didn't even attempt to catch me, the jackass. Now not only am I on fire but I have lightning shooting through my head and the wind is knocked out of my lungs.

As I struggle to get my bearings, I hear Kiriyama yelling at me from miles away. Maybe I'm under water? Was there a lake below the window? His voice sounds tinny and muffled but as I pry my eyes open he's right there in front of me, the moon behind him giving him an ethereal glow. I try to grin off my stupidity but my face feels stiff and when I attempt to stand my right leg feels like lead. Looking to Kiriyama, I see his beautiful eyes are locked on my lower body and I smirk. Well, I try to.

_He's so pretty…_

His mouth moves and buzzing insects swarm out to fill my ears. They chant something that sounds like: "Long swords… weaving through red ribbons."

It doesn't make sense but I'm not feeling so great, so I don't care. My head is swirling with clouds. I feel like death if death is raging fire and lightning bolts, with aching lungs and brittle bones made of glass. Kiriyama raises his hand and the world stops to watch. The moon holds its breath as he nears me and reaches down. I'm transfixed as the moonlight catches on his dark hair, turning it a deep, oceanic blue. He jerks away and screams a blood curdling scream.

_No, wait. That's me._

Suddenly the world is thrown off kilter and I'm facing the ground but not touching it. Fingers turned a ghostly white in the moonlight try to touch long blades of grass. I'm dangling mere feet from red grass and then I'm flying. My stomach bubbles as I'm jostled up and down, one bony shoulder digging into my gut and stoking the flames. Acid touches my tongue when I open my mouth and I attempt to talk around the bitter taste. "Kiri? Where're we goin'?" I slur into his back.

"We're getting out of here! Dammit, how could you be so stupid?" He fumes.

He sounds really angry; I can feel his anger as his deep voice reverberates from his back and through my lips. I grimace into his robe and pull away to find a blotch of dark liquid marring his pretty white robes. Actually, there are a lot of those dark marks all down his back. Stiffly, I push away so my back arches painfully as I look down. His grip on my thighs tightens and he shouts a few mean words but I'm too focused on his shoulder to care.

His entire shoulder, once a pristine white, is now a deep, warm red. It's a pretty red. I'd like it in a lipstick. But it smells like metal and fear. And pain. I gag and rub at my nose but freeze as barbed vines tighten around my face. My hand comes away red and dripping and I follow a drop down as it lands on my breast. My heart stops.

_Not again…_

Frantically, I push away from Kiriyama with all my strength and he stumbles, and then drops me. I land on my back and grope at my chest, my stomach, my face, and then I scream. I can't stop screaming. Then I suddenly stop as if I'm being choked. My head snaps down and I'm staring at my partially exposed chest. It's not the indecency of it all that grips my throat but the... _blood_. Do people even have this much blood in their bodies?

Three jagged marks rip down my torso, oozing blood and bubbles of bright green pus. The flesh is torn to tatters and God, the _smell_! Filth and decay, that's all I can smell and it makes me gag to think that my face is probably in the same state. Above me Kiriyama is yelling and the ground is shaking. I fear the world might split in half and swallow us up. But that thought isn't so bad. It would stop the pain.

"Quiet! Someone's coming, you idiot, so be quiet and stay still!"

I hadn't realized I had started screaming again. Maybe that's why my throat hurts? The ground stops moving and Kiriyama stops yelling but I'm still screaming like a banshee from the pain. It's like I can't stop. Like I have no control. I'm screaming like it's a sport and I'm at the Olympics. Gold medalist, that's for sure.

"Is everything all right?" Someone asks lowly in a strangely accented voice.

"She's hurt. Poisoned, I think," comes Kiriyama's desperate voice.

It's another man. Ugh. _Another_ man? He sounds almost Welsh but that can't be right because we're in _Ferelden_ and not _Wales_. Kiriyama and the man exchange a few heated, urgent words but it's someone else who approaches me. They're light on their feet and all I catch is a glimpse of gold and a bright blue flash before I'm out cold.

* * *

When I open my eyes I'm hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. Darkness envelops me on all sides but this time I feel a definite tug, an aching stretch in my arms and joints, a pressure on my back and a sharp pinch in my wrists that tells me I'm hanging against a wall. Not that I've had a lot of experience being in this position, I just played a prisoner in a musical before. My face feels like it's covered in dried plaster and my torso and right leg throb uncomfortably, leaving me to wonder what the heck happened to me.

Images flood my mind as I think back to what happened before I passed out, or more like when I was _knocked_ out. I remember falling out of the third story window like a fool and I dropped the blade. It fell somewhere, I think. Well, it won't do me any good _now_. I remember Kiriyama picking me up because I couldn't walk and then I started freaking out because I was bleeding. Right! I was clawed by one of those blackish purple things! And… that's about it.

I can still feel a strange burning tingle working its way through my body. It numbs my toes and my lips but I can't hold it accountable for the numbness of my fingers considering I've lost all feeling in my hands from the shackles. It sort of feels like I've been drugged. It's like waking up after taking too much melatonin or rousing from a NyQuil coma. I feel heavy and my head feels foggy. But that burning tingle is foreign.

With a grunt I try to jerk around a bit but freeze as the back of my head collides with the stone wall, causing my teeth to click together audibly. The sound of chains rattling together echoes in the darkness as pain lances up my body. My heart beats faster, burning in my chest, as I widen my eyes in a feeble attempt to see my surroundings. Fear of being trapped, of being restrained and so vulnerable, clouds over my mind as I start to shake. Hesitantly, I call out for Kiriyama once, twice, three times. He doesn't respond.

_Where is he? If I was caught, he has to be here, too!_

The torches flicker to life, bathing the dungeon in a warm glow that's more suited for a granny's cozy living room than the carnage and the brutalized man in the middle of it all. My heart leaps as I think that it might be Kiriyama, but my hope sinks when I notice all the differences between him and this strange man. The man's build is lanky with lean muscles twitching under sun kissed skin. He's wearing an odd skirt of metal and leather but his lacerated chest and cracked feet are bare. Then I do a double take at the sight of two pointed ears that stick out of his long, strawberry blond hair.

_What_ is _he?_

The pain in my leg intensifies and I hazard a glance down, instantly regretting it as I dry heave. My lower leg is barely hanging on to my femur by a few strands of muscle and flesh. I can see pops of yellow in the dark red flesh- my bones. To make matters worse, the flesh surrounding the gaping wound is slightly discolored beneath the layer of blood and I'm sure it's adding to the collective stink of the dungeon. The sight makes me choke on a cry of horror and my screams only increase when I catch sight of my mutilated chest with its visible ribs.

"Ungh!"

My breath catches in my throat, mid-scream, as the stranger stirs to life. The urge to throw up is stifled and replaced with unadulterated fear as he starts pushing himself up off the ground and into a kneeling position. His body goes rigid as he scopes out his surroundings, head tilting this way and that like an owl. Eyes that are much too large peer up at me, suspicion and pity gleaming in their green depths. Slowly, cautiously, he gets to his feet and makes his way towards me, low to the ground like a tense animal.

"Are you... a forest spirit?" He asks in a raspy, accented voice and frowns at the effort to speak clearly.

_Forest spirit? Is he high?_

I shake my head wildly, not liking that I'm strung up and exposed as he comes closer and closer. The quick motion makes my head spin but the vertigo is smothered by needle-like pain that prickles across my face and down my spine. I'm sure I could kick at him for a bit with my good leg; basic combat training taught to me by my police officer uncle comes rushing back as I struggle futilely against the chains. But the idea of flailing around the hunk of flesh that's now my leg doesn't sit well with me.

"Your hair is green like the supple leaves of elfroot and your eyes are dark like the damp bark of a Sylvan tree." He frowns. "I see all these things in you and yet you deny that you are a spirit of the forest?"

_I think that would be a bit pretty if he wasn't looking at me like he wants to burn me at the stake._

I apparently take too long to answer because he stops abruptly, merely two feet away, and fixes me with a stern look. For a moment I feel like a child who got caught eating cookies before dinner. Well, if that child was caught by a feral looking creature that could probably snap a man's neck like a pretzel stick. Said feral creature suddenly says, "Why must you retreat into a shell of trickery and deceit even as I aim to save you? Are all spirits as wily as you?"

I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered, so I settle on confused. I'm not trying to trick anyone but apparently I'm a sly fox either way. Too bad my telling the truth comes across as a bold faced lie since I don't want this pointy eared man to do anything bad out of frustration- like hit my leg- as I hang here like a bloodied ornament on a serial killer's Christmas tree.

My mind goes into overdrive as I try and find a way out of this sticky situation. I could lie and say "Yes, I am a spirit of the forest, obey me!" in order to get him to free me; his eyes are filled with a bit of reverence and fear, so it could work in my favor. Or I could tell the truth and maybe he'll still let me go out of pity.

_Ugh. The truth all the way. My lies always get found out, anyway._

"Do spirits bleed?" I ask.

His eyes narrow. "Are you a spirit who tells riddles? Blast! This is work suited for Theron…"

"Uh, no. It's just a question." Eyes flutter shut for a moment and I find myself thankful for whatever poison or drug in my system that keeps me from feeling every ounce of pain that I _should_ be feeling from these mortal-looking wounds.

"I see," the pointy-eared man says, but I don't think he does because he still wears that constipated expression. "No?"

I sigh, "Is that a question or an answer?"

"An answer? Yes, an answer! Spirits do not bleed." He nods vehemently, satisfied with his answer like we're playing Who Wants to Be a Millionaire or something.

"Good." I grimace as pain shoots through my right leg. Guess the poison is wearing off. "Now tell me, what am I doing right now?"

"You are imprisoned." He deadpans.

"And?"

_My gosh!_

I think I might start screaming at any moment if this keeps up! I was trying to get him to see for himself that I'm not a freakin' forest spirit but it's backfiring spectacularly. Must I really spoon feed him such obvious answers? Well, that bleeding spirit one is debatable, but still. I sneer and he reels back as if I've spat on him. Bleeding out with my kneecap somewhere in limbo with my lower leg barely connected to my upper leg by thin strips of muscle and a splinter of bone doesn't make me a happy camper. Ugh. The thought alone makes me feel faint. I'm surprised I've even lasted this long in my state.

"You... are bleeding." The strange man blanches, eyes roaming over my upper body and going down to my leg as if seeing it for the first time.

"Yes! _Great_ work!" I say as sarcastically as I can between panting and trying not to cry.

"But that shemlen mage said you were summoned!"

"Did he now?" I drawl between my gritted teeth.

"Yes! He staked claim to you and the Decorated Man. He said that you two are his thralls."

_Thralls? Oh, I'll_ thrall _him! Wait... Decorated Man? Kiriyama?_

"Where is the Decorated Man, now?" I ask, lips quirking at the ridiculous name even though I'm about to pass out.

"The mage has him." My stomach flops and that stupid indulgent smirk falls off my face. "If you were summoned but are not a spirit, then what does that make you?" He continues, a frown creasing his brow, "A demon?" At this revelation the man takes up a defensive stance, hands curled into tight fists with his legs spread apart. I'm tempted to kick him and start spewing obscenities like a drunken sailor but decide that that would only make things worse. Plus, I don't want to jostle my bad leg for fear of it simply falling off.

_Damn! I should've_ _just_ _said I was a spirit._


	5. Captive Animals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for some torture and lots of gore!** If you're still reading this, then I'd like to thank you for sticking around!

**05\. Captive Animals**

He stares at me for an eternity. Conflicting emotions of pity and fear swirl across his bloodied face as his fists shake. I half expect to be pummeled. Maybe he'll do me a favor and just rip my leg off? It can't take more than just a forceful tug to tear apart the thin ligaments and cracked bone. Just the thought of it sends my stomach spiraling into a vat of acid. But it's time to be brave. Or stupid. They're practically synonymous where I'm concerned.

"Well? Go on, then," I grunt out my dare as another bolt of lightning shoots through my body. I silently applaud myself for not screaming.

He breathes loudly, a ragged sound, and I watch as a drop of sweat beads on his brow and drops down into his big green eyes. He blinks. " _Are_ you a demon?"

I look right into his eyes and state firmly, "No."

His reaction is instantaneous. His lean body relaxes into near boneless-ness as he allows the extent of his fatigue to show. He clears the short two feet between us and begins to work on the chains bolted to the floor. I should be relieved that he trusted my word so easily (a bit _too_ easily), but his proximity to my dead leg sends shocks of anxiety through my brain. I have to distract myself. Small talk. Small talk will work. "Who are you?" I ask.

"Algar." He glances up. "And you?"

"Mina." I swallow back bile as his shoulder brushes against my right foot and I don't feel a thing. "A human."

Algar pauses in his attempt to wiggle a bolt out with a dagger and his lithe fingers, looking up at me with a frown. "You're a shemlen?"

_Shemlen? What the hell is that?_

"I'm a _human._ " I press, brow furrowed in a mixture of pain and frustration.

He doesn't respond, just works bolt after bolt loose. He makes it all look far too easy and I can't help but feel a bit foolish. I could've got myself free if I just wriggled around for maybe a  _century._ I'm surprised I haven't bled out by the time his hands grasp the chain and he slowly lowers me down. I'm too focused on getting down that I somehow forget about the _tiny_ detail of my right leg not being completely attached.

Jagged bone digs into the still bleeding flesh of my upper leg and I shriek in pain. Everything sharpens and brightens until all I see is blinding white. Fire erupts from my lower body to spread up my body and consume my brain. The crown of my head digs into the porous stone behind me, splitting my scalp from the force with which my head snaps back. My jaw pops, my throat jerks, and I'm left mute as I slump against the wall. The pain has sapped every ounce of what little strength I had left.

"I was wondering just how skilled the Dalish elves are compared to all of those soft, city elves that used to scuttle about the halls of this manor like little mice."

That voice, slicing through the rushing blood in my ears like a gust of frosty wind, is the last thing I want to hear. Slowly, the bright light fades away and I see Carrow standing at the bottom of a staircase I'm sure wasn't there before. His skeletal form is swathed in gauzy blue robes with a silky gray sash. Steel blue eyes are locked on Algar's frozen figure.

"It seems you can manipulate even _elves_ into doing your bidding, Mina. Not too surprising, of course." Carrow says as he advances on us, kicking aside a dismembered hand with an exasperated look, "I really ought to clean up. The only drawback to sacrificing my entire house staff of elves is that nothing ever gets cleaned. Oh! And I have to cook my own meals. _Such_ a bother."

_Elves?_

My eyes follow the appendage as it sails away and then slaps against the floor. The sickening sound of flesh connecting with stone seems to echo forever. "I didn't manipulate anyone," I finally gasp out.

"Oh, didn't you?" Carrow drawls and his casual tone makes my skin crawl, "You tricked me into believing that you were eager to aid in my noble cause and you made this little elf release you of your bindings, though he _clearly_ fears you. I see now that this is the extent of your power; a devious creature from another realm who can twist and warp the mind of any being."

He's so close now and Algar still isn't moving. I stare at the elf's back, willing him to move, when I catch sight of a strange symbol under him that faintly pulses with a purple glow. My hands curl against the stone I'm leaning against and the shackles dig into my fingers. I can't move just yet. I feel like my bones are made of lead and even twitching my pinky finger feels like a chore. I let Carrow continue on with his spiel, hoping that by the time he's done I'll have recharged.

_Fat chance of that._

Carrow waves a bony hand about listlessly. "I made the mistake of thinking formidable demons like you and Steven would willingly obey the commands of a human." He continues, stopping at the edge of the purple symbol, "But do not fret, my dear, I will make sure you know your place when I'm finished with you."

That doesn't sound good. Not at all. I can't even will my own body to move much less Algar's as Carrow sidesteps the immobile elf to stand before me. His feet are bare and caked in blood. He chuckles softly, reaching a hand out to stroke my hair and gently pat my head before gripping my chin with alarming strength. My nostrils flare at the irony musk of blood and death that he seems to wear like fine cologne.

"That is Steven's blood, dear. I just finished _educating_ him. I'm so sorry I had to separate you two but I didn't want to spoil the surprise."

Words tumble around in my mind, in my throat, but they never pass my lips. There isn't a purple thing below me but I'm rendered just as immobile as Algar. I'm pathetic. I'm literally frozen in fear and I internally berate myself for being such a damn coward. I should fight! I should strangle the psycho and free Algar before going and saving Kiriyama!

But I don't do any of those things. Instead, I stare up into Carrow's hollow eyes like a simpleton. Suddenly there's a flare in their depths and I recognize the emotions with a churn of my stomach. Anger, fury, hate... sadness? I swear there's a hint of betrayal in his face before he smothers it behind a cold, impassive mask. A beat of silence passes.

"How could you lie to me?" He screams, placid mask shattering as nails dig into my face and draw warm blood, "I give you the gift of flesh and you betray me! You show your gratitude with trickery and then look upon _me_ with disgust? I am not the monster here, _dear_ one! Oh, no! Don't ever mistake yourself for a goodly spirit when all you will ever do is taint and deceive!" He spits as he steps back, chest heaving.

My mouth opens and closes in a sad attempt at reasoning with him, placating him, _anything_. Shit! I knew trying to escape was a bad idea! It was too soon! Of course our pathetic attempt at fleeing was thwarted; there was no planning or forethought or anything useful or clever. I want to curse Kiriyama to hell but I know that we were only caught because of _me_. My chest is ripped up because of _me_ , my leg is falling off because of _me_ , and the sadistic bastard has done something horrible to Kiriyama because of _me_.

_This is my fault!_

It happens in slow motion. Carrow lunges for me, eyes wide with fury as he reaches those dagger-like fingers towards my throat. In a moment of sheer stupidity, I throw myself to the right; directly onto the leg that's barely even part of my body anymore, as I tumble over Algar's prone form. Adrenaline sears through my veins and I only gag out a strangled sob from the harsh tug and then lightness that follows after Carrow viciously grabs my leg and I drag myself away with a forceful push. Then I'm crawling, the sound of bones crunching and flesh ripping still echoing in my ears.

My elbows dig into the rough stone as I stiffly maneuver my way between the piles of bodies as fast as I can, chains rattling behind me. Fire licks languidly at my exposed chest and bleeding stump. Carrow's shrill, childlike laughter fills the chamber and I know he's just watching me, amused to high hell. The air burns my nose as I breathe quickly and heavily, fingernails cracking as I drag myself towards the staircase. I've already died once and I'll be damned if I do it again without a fight!

"Oh, Mina! This is so much _fun_!" Carrow cackles, "You know, Steven only attempted to strangle me, which was quite unoriginal and dull. You were right, you know? You _are_ an entertainer!"

My shaking hand is a hair's breadth away from the first stone step when there's an explosion somewhere in the back of my head. Everything goes numb, cold, before I'm flying through the air and colliding with the wall farthest from the staircase; next to him, next to my leg. Convulsing with my heart in my ears and my stomach in my throat, I scream. I scream and scream until nothing more than a hoarse wail comes out. And then he's on me, hand shooting forward to plunge his fingers into the gaping wounds in my chest, and I scream some more. I pray to pass out, to faint, I even pray for death.

His fingers probe and drag below the skin, stretching it to the point of tearing like he's searching for something. He does this for a lifetime, just crouches over me; scrawny body around me like a cage of bones, thin fingers probing my bleeding flesh like barbed wire as he whispers incoherently. Then there's a pulse. At first I think it's just another convulsion, but it stems from his fingers, white hot, to shoot through my veins. My body stills, my vision fades, and I think I've died again.

"I read this in a book, you know." Carrow breathes into my ear and I whimper, "Oh, no, no. Do not cry, dear. This is the only way I can be assured that you won't ever betray me again. Well, at least you won't try and _kill_ me. This is more for Steven, really, but I think you both deserve the same treatment. Do you not agree?"

There's a sickening sound of flesh ripping, bones snapping and blood spilling to the floor. I'm numb. My skin buzzes with a foreign energy that crackles in the air. A soft tug in my stub leg, my chest, and my face, sends my heart racing out of control as horrible images flood my mind.

_He's ripping me apart!_

A scream tears through the air and I think it might be mine. I definitely feel like screaming when he pulls his hands away and the numbness fades, leaving me to feel every single second of it. I feel his knuckles drag across exposed bone, feel his nails scrape against flesh and I feel... hollow. Like he's taken something from me.

When my vision returns he's still there but covered in blood. A warm smile graces his face like a proud father. I don't want to, but I look down anyway. Angry pink welts cover my chest where gaping wounds once were and my leg... my leg is whole but there's an ugly, jagged scar about an inch thick that puckers up and circles around like someone has hot glued the flesh back together.

He's stroking my hair again and whispering words of dominion and control that I think he believes are soothing against my forehead, clammy lips pressing against my heated flesh. Then he trails his bloody hand through my hair, fingers dancing across my cheek and arm to hold my hand as he pulls me up and leads me to the staircase. I watch, empty eyed, as he steps through a pile of blood and bone where Algar once was.

* * *

Judging by the crude little X's I've marked on the wall, it's been quite some time since my private session with Carrow in the dungeon and we still haven't moved to overthrow the Circle- a place where mages are sent so they can be watched and monitored like zoo animals. At first I felt bad for the mages when I heard what the purpose of the Circle of Magi was and what Templars did to control them, but every time I felt bad for a mage all I had to do was look at Kiriyama and the feeling would die.

Those beautiful hazel eyes, once brimming with emotion, are hollow and dead- cold, like Carrow's soulless blue eyes. And I'm sure if I had a mirror to look in I'd find that I look no better. I feel like a whipped dog, but my pride won't allow me to behave like one. But Kiriyama? Kiriyama just sits there on his bed across from mine in our shared room day after day, staring off into space and only eating when I practically shove food under his nose. He won't even look at me.

_Well, I can't fault him for that… It_ is _my fault that we're stuck here._

But I think he's going a bit overboard with this passive aggressive nonsense. Wouldn't you agree? I mean, it's been so long already (days and weeks) and he _still_ won't acknowledge my presence despite the fact that we sleep in the same freakin' room- that we're _confined_ to the same room. I no longer stay in an overly extravagant, dusty room with a large barred window; no, I lost that privilege when I tried to flee.

Now? I stay in a cold, dank, windowless room somewhere in Carrow's extensive dungeons (which I think is a re-purposed cellar judging by the immense amount of crates and barrels) with only Kiriyama and the occasional rat for company. And the rats make for better companions since at least _they_ squeak while Kiri makes no sound at all. It's frustrating to think that the only other person I can depend on has checked out. And it's a sad state of affairs that the only person I can depend on killed me once.

I cross my legs on my bare bedroll, smoothing out the wrinkles in the white robe I wear. To entertain myself I pick long, green hairs off the yellowed mattress and twist them together into a mini braid. I like to think that I can will it to grow larger so I can hang myself with it; anything to get out of this hellhole or at least to have the comfort of having options. Dangling the thin braid between my fingers, I look up at Kiriyama and sigh. I flick the braid in his direction a few times, even get up and tickle his nose with it, but he doesn't do a thing.

_You've really given up, Steven Kiriyama?_

"You know, I liked it better when you called me mean things and glared at me." I twist the fallen hair even tighter to stay calm.

Stuffing the little braid under my bed with the others, I flop back on the mattress and stare at the ceiling. The light from the torches does interesting things to the shadows. If you look hard enough, you can see animals and flowers and sometimes people. It's like cloud watching but less satisfying without all the fresh air and sounds of nature and the _freedom_. I used to cloud watch all the time with my brother, Mike, when I got to see him on the weekends. He would blush and say it was stupid but would snap to attention every time I said one of them looked like a dragon. They never did, I just wanted him to use his imagination and have a bit of fun. He was always so serious for just being a kid.

_Oh, Mike._

My nose burns and I rub at it furiously in a feeble attempt to chase away the oncoming tears. I can't cry. Not here. Not in front of Steven Freakin' Kiriyama. Fingertips brush over a slightly raised bump at the tip of my nose. The faint hiccups stop. I pause to glide my fingertips over the little ridge that leads up to the corner of my left eye, back over my nose, and across my right cheek. My lips thin into a hard line. All intent of crying fades away.

I have three other pale, jagged scars. One runs from my left shoulder to split through the top of my right breast, another drags across my ribs, and the last adds even more character to the backwards J on my belly; twisting it into something I can't describe with a simple letter. When I first felt them, they were rough and every little thing that touched them sent red-hot needles shooting through the sensitive skin. But that pain was nothing compared to the toll it took on my ego and vanity.

_Can't be vain now._

The soft sigh of elegant white robes gliding against a stiff mattress draws my attention. I watch from my sprawled position as Kiriyama scoots his way up his bed to rest his back against the wall. His eyes remain on the door and I'm tempted for the hundredth time since we've been stuck here to leap onto him and shake him. But I don't. I don't know what Carrow did to him so I don't know if he still needs time to heal; physically or otherwise. Goodness knows I need a lifetime to recover from this nightmare.

Still, he doesn't react no matter how much I poke and prod; metaphorically and literally. He just stares at the door. Occasionally it will crack open and a tray of food will slide in three or so times a day. That's how I managed to keep track of the days; it's the only thing that has kept me sane. That and humming softly to myself when I can't sleep. I'm looking at all of the haphazard X's on the wall when something dawns on me.

_Oh, dammit! I marked an X for each meal! I have to go and divide it all by three now._

As I get up to retrieve the lump of soft rock that I use for writing, the door opens and in steps Carrow in his fanciest red robes. His steely eyes dance between me and Kiriyama, offering me an amused smile when he notices the rock in my hand and the X's on the wall. My grip on the smooth stone tightens to the point that I feel the rounded edges digging into my palm. I glare at the floor.

The cloying desire to bow claws at my pride and I strangle it. Kiriyama doesn't, though, and it's almost enough to make me physically ill. Carrow bows his head regally in response before just standing there like a scarecrow in a cornfield. I can tell you one thing, the farm that he perches in will never have any crows. The air thickens but I'm well beyond trying to come across as the humble guest. I know it, Carrow knows it, hell I'm sure even the _rats_ know it. For the longest time all I ever did was pace and swear at Carrow every time he paid us a visit. And yet he always keeps that pleasant, expectant smile on his face. Even after the things _he's_ done to me in turn to try and break me down.

Maybe he expects me to bow, to bend to the little voice in my head that tells me that's my duty, but it will be a cold day in hell before I ever, ever do that. So when I gauge that he's just going to stand there doing nothing, I turn back to the wall and start tallying the marks. My entire life centers around the little dots I mark above the X's, around the faint scrape the soft stone makes against the harder, rougher stone. I'm up to sixty when the skeletal man finally speaks.

"You have been under my care for five weeks and two days."

_Bastard._

I toss the rock into a corner and turn to Carrow, arms crossed. My posture is rebellious but my smile is all sugar and charm. He smiles back but it quickly dies as his brow puckers in a rare expression of concern. "My friends, we have a bit of a problem." He sighs, making me stiffen as he strolls over and stands by my bed, "Our trip to the Circle has been postponed, as you may or may not have noticed, and the reason is that we have been paid some unexpected visits by a few curious creatures." My heart nearly stops at this news.

_Could someone be coming to rescue us? Does anyone know that we're even here?_

Carrow continues, wrenching me from my thoughts. "They have eaten all the little piggies I keep on the land for food and even killed one of my demons! Oh, the _gall_ those beasts have!" He huffs, "We have to move up to the manor in Amaranthine. I'm afraid the blighted Darkspawn are getting a bit too comfortable on my land. But I _did_ manage to behead one of their Ogres and its gruesome visage will look quite impressive mounted above the fireplace!" He taps his chin in thought, "I believe its horns are the same color as the mantel."

_Ogres? Darkspawn? I don't think ogres are here to help…_

I want to pour out questions like a fountain but freeze when I notice the psychotic blond magic-wielder left the door open. My nerves burst into flames. It's open maybe four inches but to me it looks like a wide expanse of open land. I can almost taste sweet freedom on the tip of my tongue as I take a steadying breath. Thunder roars in my chest and pounds in my ears.

_I'm going to do it!_

I dart my eyes over to Carrow only to find his gaze trained on me, a lazy smirk winding its way across his face. His boney hands are clasped politely in front of him and he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side in a silent question. A silent dare.

_No. I can't, even if I tried. And oh, how I've_ tried _._

The first time Carrow paid a visit down here to assure us that we were all still "good friends," I had made a run for it. Before I was even halfway down the corridor I found myself flying back towards my prison, Carrow's hand pulsing with energy. Another time I had attempted to shove the bag of bones out of the way only to find myself soaring across the room, head a frazzled mess as my thoughts all converged and jumbled together before I crashed into a wall.

So this easy escape standing before me like a temptress, is a ruse. He _wants_ me to go for it. Hell, he'll probably even let me make it to the stairwell I know to be at the end of the hall this time. But once hope starts to creep into my heart he'll reel me back in, flopping around like a dazed fish. That realization cuts a harsh smile across my face. "So, when do we leave?" I ask with my hands clenched behind my back, anger coiling in my stomach like a serpent ready to strike.

"Today, my dear. We leave today."


	6. My Little Bodyguard

**06\. My Little Bodyguard**

_My feet hurt._

What an original thought! I've been thinking the same damn thing for days now as I trudge through the mud and rain next to a smiling Carrow. The pompous bastard is apparently too good to walk on the wet earth with us plebs; perched in an elegant purple traveling cloak like a big, horrifying tropical bird on the back of a horse. But I guess it's better than his first choice.

When it started raining, he suggested one of us give him a piggy-back ride with a giddy smile that starkly contrasted the churning gray clouds. Now, there was not a snowball's chance in hell that I would allow that, so I sank to stealing a horse from a nearby village. Yeah, I'm a _thief_ now. That'll look awesome on my résumé. Anyway, it was a botched job that ended with me being dragged along by a bucking horse all the way back to an amused and clapping Carrow. I throw him a dirty look as I rub at my poor, bruised arms, and murmur, "Ass."

Well, he's a nobleman so it shouldn't be so surprising that the guy can ride a horse. I only wish that I had taken that history class on the Renaissance period since it seems like that's where I'm trapped. The dirty village made of cow manure and straw was a big indicator to the age; which means no electricity and poor hygiene galore, something I really am _not_ looking forward to considering Carrow has been surprisingly generous with providing basins full of warm water and assorted soaps. I guess psychos are sticklers for proper hygiene as well.

_What I wouldn't do for some warmth right now…_

My hands shake as I draw my plain black cloak closer to my body. It provides no warmth, having been soaked through with icy rain already. On the other side of the horse I can faintly hear Kiriyama. Even in the mud he treads almost silently. The faint stirrings of anger crackle in the back of my mind, coupled with foolish hope. I still cling to the hope that the dark haired man hasn't given up. Honestly, I often daydream that he'll turn on Carrow and fight, affording us precious time to escape. But it hasn't happened yet. Nor does it look like Kiriyama will even attempt to flee even if _I_ make the first move.

"Such dreadful weather. Don't you agree, Steven?" Carrow asks, stroking his long fingers through the horse's dark mane.

_Man, I do_ not _envy that horse!_

I glimpse Kiriyama dipping his hooded head in agreement but that's all he does. He doesn't even grunt or anything. It makes me want to scream and hit him, tackle him into the mud and shove his face into the goopy stuff. Carrow seems to feel the same way because he makes a soft little displeased sound in the back of his throat and glances down at me. A smile tugs at the corners of his thin lips. Fighting back a disgusted look, I train my eyes straight ahead.

"What say you, Mina? You always have a word or two to offer. That's what makes you my favorite! _Just don't tell Kiriyama._ " Carrow whispers the last bit like the other man didn't already hear him.

_I would probably find that funny if he wasn't absolutely certifiable._

"Personally, I enjoy the cold and the rain." I reply smoothly, even as I shiver. "The weather was always too hot where I came from."

He makes an excited noise, thinking I'm going to go on and on about my homeland, but we're interrupted before he can request an overly embellished story when five men of varying height and build step out from the trees on either side of the path. They're decked out in leathers and mud and they all wear matching frowns. Must be a gang. I roll my eyes despite the obvious threat. Excellent timing.

Carrow pulls the horse to an easy halt as the men advance on us. I practically stumble to a stop, legs cold and numb. My heart beat picks up a bit when I catch sight of a quiver full of arrows on one of the men's back. The others most likely have their weapons hidden. Great. _More_ danger. But I think I stand a better chance against these men- five against one- than I do against Carrow. Unless one of them happens to be a mage. Then I'm probably screwed.

"You lot going up to Amaranthine?" The man in the middle asks gruffly, sounding as intelligent as a trained gorilla.

"Why yes, we are." Carrow replies with his nose slightly upturned, seeming to share the same sentiment as me.

"Well, you're just outside city limits and there's a bit of a toll charge to get through."

_Toll charge? I call bullshit on that one._

Dermot Carrow hums softly to himself, "Really now? Well, that's new." I refrain from gawking up at the blond man. Is he really serious? If he knows for a fact that these guys are nothing but opportunistic scumbags, then why doesn't he use something from his bag of magic tricks to scare them off instead of allowing the archer to nock an arrow and aim it at us?

_Holy shit!_

Alarm bells blaring in my head, my body stiffens like I've been covered in cement. A soft giggle rings through the air and I really do gawk up at Carrow this time as his slight frame trembles with laughter. This obviously offends the men because they all start pulling weapons out of every nook and cranny and I can't help but wonder how they hid so many blades in such sensitive places.

Turning his body, Carrow unclasps a large traveling bag from the back of the horse and allows it to fall to the muddy ground with a loud splat. The horse shakes its head and stomps its back legs, glad for the break. I flinch and glare as muddy water splashes up the backs of my legs. Confused, the men slightly lower their weapons.

_They're confused? They should join the freakin' club._

"Are you honestly giving them all of our supplies?" I hiss over the din of rain and wind. Lightning streaks across the sky, the bright yellow bolt cracking against stormy black clouds.

"Don't be silly, Mina dear!" Carrow chuckles, kicking the horse into a trot. "There is an old family blade in that pack. Use it to get rid of these hooligans. I'll be waiting at the manor with a warm meal! I hope you like horse stew!" He shoots Kiriyama a pointed look that I nearly miss, "And please refrain from using your powers too much. It is most _annoying_."

_Huh?_

Thunder roars, shaking the ground beneath my feet. We all watch as the blond nobleman takes a path overgrown with weeds and shrubbery, waving lazily over his shoulder as he disappears out of sight without a care in the world. Wow. He must have a lot of confidence in my and Kiriyama's fighting abilities. Slowly, I turn my head toward Kiriyama to find him staring intently at me. His gaze is smoldering, filled with warning and heat. My heart leaps.

_He snapped out of it!_

The relief of having my only ally back is short lived, though, as an arrow whizzes by my head, embedding itself somewhere in the ground far behind me. Thank God for the wind! Kiriyama jerks into action, sprinting towards the first man he sees and engaging in a hypnotizing dance of ducking and dodging until he manages to kick the dagger from the man's hand, catch it in midair, and slash the poor sap across the throat. Blood drips down his neck as he clasps at the gaping wound helplessly, falling to his knees.

I'm sure my jaw is in the mud. Right now, in this moment, being killed by Steven Kiriyama doesn't seem all that bad considering he's so skilled and I had managed to put up more of a fight than the thug Kiriyama just felled. It actually fills me with a sick sense of pride that I was murdered by a man who makes fighting and killing look like an art form. Another arrow lands in the ground before me and I jolt out of my trance.

"Mina! Move unless you want that next arrow to land between your eyes!" Kiriyama shouts over the growing howl of the wind, throwing the dagger at another thug and nailing him in the forehead.

Adrenaline pulses through my veins, drying my mouth and clearing my mind. Slipping through the mud, I backpedal until my feet hit the bag and I dive for it like a drowning woman to a buoy. My fingers shake a bit as I rip the canvas apart in my haste to find the blade. Sharp pain bites into my fingers and I withdraw my hand with a hiss. A fine cut slices across my fingertips, beading red droplets.

_Well, there's the blade._

Carefully this time, I reach into the bag and tug out a very familiar sword. I grimace at the image of a poor bird being violated by vines before my ears prick at the sound of feet pounding sloppily in the mud. I whirl around, body going into survival mode as I grip the hilt of the sword firmly and swing it, eyes clenched shut. It connects with a sick _thunk_ and I can't move it any further. Breath catching in my throat, I slowly pry my eyes open and almost wish I hadn't.

The blade was only able to embed itself almost halfway into the man's neck, leaving him to fumble over the steel with clumsy hands, eyes wide and round with fear. I can only think back to the night I died. I'm sure I looked much the same; terrified, wondering what happens next. A sob bubbles up in my throat and I struggle to force it back down.

_It was self-defense!_

Using muscles I didn't even know I had, I wrench the blade free and swing it back again and again and again, shouting desperately each time for this all to end until the man's head falls to the ground with a thud that I think might resonate in my ears for the rest of my life. I'm suddenly very glad that it's raining… because I can't stop crying.

As I try and get a hold of myself, I'm vaguely aware of pained grunts and labored breaths nearing me. I look up and see Kiriyama trying to fight off two men at once. The archer nocks another arrow, trying to get in a good shot as his comrade viciously stabs and slashes at the lithe man. I'm in awe. If it had been me, I would already be sliced and diced but Kiriyama just parries away like he's been doing it all his life.

Snapping out of my daze, I ditch the old blade and snatch up the dead man's knife, charging towards the archer. I don't know if I can handle killing another person. But I do know that I _don't_ want Kiri dead. I'm all bravado as I rush the enemy, heart fixing to burst out of my chest as the distance between us narrows down to mere inches. Maybe I should be insulted, but he doesn't even notice me until I'm on him and slashing like a mad woman at his face.

He swears colorfully and I'm so close to him that I feel his warm, whiskey-scented breath ghost across my face. It feels nice compared to the cold, but I don't have time to enjoy this short break from the chill as he shucks off the quiver and pulls out two daggers of his own. He moves so fluidly that he manages to nick my chin and scrape my cheek. Compared to everything I've been through, this pain is nothing more than a mosquito bite. But I still glower. "You cut my face, you ass!" I growl, "I don't need any _more_ scars!"

His blade comes down again, aiming for my eye, but I deflect it with my own and kick hard at his chest. Thank you, Uncle Carl! I'm sure my uncle would be proud that I managed to kick back a man twice my size, but I can't jump for joy just yet. My body tenses as the thug gets his bearings. I hold the too-small blade in front of me and wait for him to make the first move when an arrow lodges itself in his head. Gawking, I watch as he slumps to the ground. From the corner of my eye I see Kiriyama lowering a bow.

_Seriously? What the hell_ can't _this guy do?_

I note snottily that it was a crappy shot. The arrow is crooked and looks as though it arced before hitting its mark...maybe. I'm probably just making things up. I don't know a thing about archery. "I had it under control." I blurt out instead of thanking him. For that, I cringe.

"I forgive you for getting us caught." Kiriyama replies softly, catching me off guard.

"I… What?" I stutter, thinking I misheard him over the rumble of thunder.

"You got us caught when we tried to escape and I forgive you." He says slowly as if talking to a simpleton, "Now, we need to go. I'm not sure we'll get a better chance than this."

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that we're safe and that he's talking to me. But _what_? Unbridled fury wells up in the form of tears and I'm ashamed to admit that I'm one of those girls who cries when she just gets _so_ angry. My hands clench into tight fists at my sides as my jaw works overtime to try and bite back all the insults and curses that rush to mind.

" _Really_?" I barely hiss out, causing him to tilt his head closer. "You forgive me, huh? Well I don't forgive _you_ for leaving me to fend for myself when I actually needed you! I thought you were supposed to be the strong one! I mean, are you really that petty?" My shrill voice cracks at the end but I'm too angry to be embarrassed.

My eyes might be playing tricks on me, but I think his cheeks have taken on a slightly pink hue. He averts his piercing gaze, looking uncomfortable as he shifts from foot to foot in the thick mud. All of my anger is fading as quickly as it came, allowing fear to rear its ugly head. I'm an _idiot_! Who tells off the guy who kills people as easily as he steps on ants?

"Mina."

I choke back a yelp of surprise as he fixes those serpentine eyes on me, freezing me to the spot. Swallowing hard, I can only watch as he swiftly closes the distance between us. I cringe, expecting him to punch me in the face or shank me for old times' sake. Warmth envelops me and my eyes pop open. Steven Kiriyama is hugging me. "I-I… Um… Huh?"

I am the epitome of eloquence right now. I'm not physically attracted to Steven Kiriyama or anything, but… Maybe I've just been deprived of human contact for so long or it's just that I've got off an emotional roller coaster, but the level of comfort I find in my killer's arms is overwhelming. I'm both relieved and disgusted. But the hug feels so nice that I'm not disgusted with myself for too long, anyway.

This hug is full of a deep understanding. In this moment I think that it's the best hug I've ever had in my entire life. Well, in _this_ life and my last one combined. But there's something there, just beneath the surface, which makes my stomach twist in uncomfortable knots. It's a certain tension, not sexual in any way, but something a bit more dangerous. I choose to ignore it.

Tentatively, I breathe in his scent and almost sob. It's a wonderful change from smelling blood and decay all the time, having been locked in Carrow's dungeons for so long. I'm just so glad that Kiriyama smells _normal_ ; all musk and spicy, earthy undertones that almost makes me melt. And his _warmth_. My eyes glaze over and flutter shut as I gently rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I indulge in the moment.

_This is nice… But it has to stop. Think about who you're hugging!_

I push away, keeping my eyes to the ground as I cough uncomfortably into the crook of my arm. I remember that I'm still a bit mad at him and I have a few questions that I want answered. First off, what the _hell_ was all that earlier? The fighting, I mean. I barely took down one guy while he easily dispatched four. "Thanks… For earlier, I mean." I say awkwardly.

"It was nothing." Kiri replies shortly, almost nonchalant.

I frown and cross my arms, "How'd you learn how to shoot a bow?"

He shrugs, "Lucky shot, I guess. I never used a bow before. The only sort of 'combat training' I have is in martial arts. My father taught me. He also taught me to be adaptable." At that last bit, Kiriyama gives me a very pointed look and I try not to get annoyed.

For a moment I'm tempted to brag that I was taught _mixed_ martial arts by my uncle but decide that that's neither here nor there. Besides, I would most likely just come across as a gigantic ass for saying that to my savior. Struggling to run my fingers through my knotted and sopping wet hair, I avert my gaze and try to steel myself for my next question. My saliva is thick.

"Why did you just check out, Kiriyama?" I ask lowly. "It was like I was all alone. Like I was the only one fighting to get out. The only one who _wanted_ to escape."

His jaw tightens as he lifts his face to the sky. Rain pelts his brow, causing him to gently close his eyes, and he looks so calm with water running in small rivulets down his pale throat. My eyes zero in on a little tattoo in the shape of a feather just below his left ear. It's a bright aqua color with deep gold accents and it's so different from the other tattoos depicting dragons and demons that I know to be on his body. A smile tugs at my lips.

"I didn't give up," he spits, making me flinch and simultaneously ruining the serene moment, "I was just biding my time, looking for a chance to escape. _You're_ the one who kept throwing yourself at all the obvious traps like a fly to a bug zapper."

_What a bastard!_

I can feel my upper lip twitching into a snarl but I beat it back. As much as I want to throttle him right now, I know that we need to work together. Besides, he did just comfort me- as odd as that thought seems right now with him glaring daggers at my head. And I'm not sure I want to test his self-restraint any more than I already have. I'm lucky as it is to still be standing. My eyes flick uneasily to the bow in his hand. He doesn't have an arrow, but I think he could still choke me out with it.

"So, what were you saying about leaving?" I ask with a bit too much enthusiasm.

We're still so close to each other and all it takes is a slight tilt of his head for him to stare me into oblivion. I'm sucked into those emerald and gold pools that are more like whirlpools with their intensity. The rain lets up just a bit, beading on his dark hair and turning it into slick ink. The corner of his mouth quirks and effectively turns his serious gaze into something smug. He drops the bow to the ground with a plop that snaps me out of my trance.

_Jerk._

"I said that we won't have an opportunity to escape that's more ideal than this." He gestures towards the tree line, "Our taskmaster is gone, leaving us to our own devices. For all he knows, we're still fighting highwaymen while he cooks his twisted idea of a 'warm meal.'"

My head whips around to look at where Carrow had disappeared into the trees. Leaves rustle in the wind, too fat and heavy with rain. They droop down to spill icy water which patters onto the undergrowth in a trickling shower. Other than that, the surrounding forest is silent; maybe too silent. I shake my head. I'm just being paranoid. This is a rare opportunity and I'm not about to let it pass me up. How often does Carrow let us out of his sight? The man watches us like a hawk!

Nodding, I query, "Where do we go? We can't head up to Amaranthine. Carrow is too close and-"

"Be silent and listen."

I purse my lips, "You could've asked nicely, sheesh."

"Mina, remember when Carrow mentioned that he wanted to see our powers?" Kiri asks carefully, eyes glinting.

_Powers? This is coming from the guy who didn't want to believe any of this was real in the first place?_

"Yeah," I say slowly, thinking back to that pointed look Carrow had thrown Kiriyama.

"I've been doing things when you've been sleeping and-" He cuts himself off when he catches sight of my disgusted look, "Not anything like _that_ you idiot. I've been feeling things, sort of like a humming sensation in my blood. It's really strange and it caught me off guard the first time I felt it. But then I started really listening to it."

I'm not sure if I like where this is going. This isn't what I envisioned our conversation would be like. Actually, I thought he would swear at me and call me rude things for getting us caught. I didn't expect him to forgive me like I had done something less grievous, like forget to water his plants. But he _did_ make me suffer through weeks of solitude, so I don't think he actually let me off the hook at all. I definitely didn't expect him to comfort me afterward, though. But this strange talk about powers? I wasn't expecting this at all.

_Oh, what the hell? I might as well humor him._

"Well, what happened?"

His brow furrows, "It spoke to me. Not with words, but with feelings."

Okay, humoring time is over. I thought Kiriyama was the sensible, blunt, and cut-throat one out of the two of us. But obviously I was wrong. So, not only was I murdered by some thug and resurrected by a psychotic mage, but I'm stuck with my murderer and he's _also_ bat shit crazy. I'm the luckiest woman in the world. Really, I am. All I need right now is for Jason to come crashing through the trees, flailing his machete. That would be the icing on this nightmarish cake.

"Spoke to you?" I ask incredulously and he glares.

"Like I said, not with words. It was an empowering feeling and I embraced it." His rueful smile makes my heartbeat falter, "Now I can actually do something to make sure we never get caught again."

"Kiriyama?" I whisper, feeling a coldness settle on me that isn't from the rain or the wind. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I found my power. It comes from my blood, it hums through my body until I can't even see myself." He looks at his hand wistfully and I almost expect it to disappear, "Then I go places."

"Go places?" I parrot.

"Yes. I just think of it, images or the name of a place, and I'm there." He frowns, "But I can't get back home. I can go anywhere but _there_."

This doesn't sound right. Feelings in his blood? Mix that up with the supernatural coldness that seems to have descended upon us like a dense fog, and I find myself slowly backing away from the tall man. Of course he notices and a hurt look flashes across his face before it's replaced with his signature irritated frown. I gulp audibly, saliva feeling too sticky as I choke on a breath. Mind racing as fast as my heart, I fumble for the upper hand in this bizarre conversation. I appeal to his logic.

"Kiriyama, this doesn't make sense. Think about it. How could you just, I don't know, _teleport_ to different places on a whim?" I spread my hands out like I'm offering him the gift of knowledge. "It's been proven by numerous researchers that the science is impossible. And even if you could, why would you wait so long to escape?"

He actually falters and I pray that he doesn't put two and two together about me not knowing squat about anything relatively scientific. My prime focus is the arts and it probably wasn't a smart thing to toss physics to the wind once I entered college. The sure look in his eyes flickers for a moment before clouding over. Stony faced, he stares me down. The coldness doesn't abate; it seems to thicken and press on my lungs until I have to struggle to breathe. My chest heaves and my lungs ache. Then I hear a strange, painful popping in my ears that only stops when Kiriyama speaks.

"If we don't have powers, then what are you doing right now?" He suddenly asks.

_Say what?_

"What do you mean?" I rasp, slightly hunched over from the effort to breathe.

"Don't play dumb, Mina. I heard Carrow mumbling about it when he brought you into the cell. He said that you compel people. You look into their eyes and hold them prisoner as you feed them lies and bend them to your will." He crosses his arms, a genuinely curious look on his face, "Now, why didn't you use _that_ on Carrow? You could have made him release us. Hell, I'm sure you could've made him kill himself."

"Okay, I didn't do _anything_ to you. And Carrow is full of shit. He's crazy! Are you really going to take the word of a crazy man as gospel?"

He sighs, "You were quick to believe him about him being a mage and about us being in some place called Ferelden. Now you hesitate?"

"It's not the same!" I argue.

"It's exactly the same."

It's not! I had solid proof of him being a mage what with me suddenly being alive after being brutally murdered and then his fancy little trick with the candelabra. This is completely different. Us having powers? I've yet to see any indication that I have some sort of control over others. If I did, then I wouldn't have been stuck in a friggin' holding cell for so long! But I don't say this aloud. Something tells me that I need to try and be as diplomatic as possible if Kiriyama really has gone off the deep end. I don't need him pulling a Carrow on me.

"Okay, then. Why did you wait so long to tell me about your powers, huh?" I huff, hugging myself as my breath comes out as a faint puff of steam.

"Because I didn't know if I could take you with me before." Kiri admits. "I only just fully grasped the concept of it the night before we left. I took a rat to Gwaren and back; it was perfectly fine. I couldn't find the right opportunity to take you away, though, when we started traveling. Did you know that bastard doesn't even sleep?" An uneasy expression crosses his face as he glances at the trees before he shakes his head, "But now we're alone and Carrow can't interfere. We have to act on this opportunity."

Before I can react, before I can step away or run or defend myself, Kiriyama wraps his strong arms around me for the second time today and I feel like my body turns into buzzing jelly. That weird humming sensation he mentioned fills my brain, pounds in my ears, makes my blood stir until I feel like my entire being is shaking from its intensity. I squeeze my eyes shut as something around me shifts. His arms? His body? Sharp things press into my arms. This _definitely_ isn't right. Then he pulls me so tight I think I might snap in half and the ground disappears from beneath my feet.


	7. Pirate Queen

**07\. Pirate Queen**

Pressure. A great pressure pushes down on my chest and my ears, causing my eyes to fly open. Green vines obscure my vision, wrapping across my face for the briefest of moments before drifting away. I'm surrounded with ice and a deep blue that burns my eyes. It's so beautiful, but there's something very wrong about it all. Maybe I'm asleep? I could have sworn I was in Kiriyama's arms, trying to make him see reason. Lungs quiver, ache, filling with salty heat as I struggle to breathe. My heart stops.

_I can't breathe!_

As I start to panic, pain explodes on the top of my head and I'm suddenly being wrenched up into the sky. At first I think it might be some sort of giant bird taking me away since anything is possible in this strange land, but then I recognize the feeling of very hard knuckles dragging across my scalp and my ears pop painfully as cold air beats against my face. I can breathe again, but I'm still choking up salt and... water?

"Sorry. I told you I was just getting the hang of this." A deep voice sighs over the crashing of waves.

_Water? Waves?_

Despite my pride, I cling onto Kiriyama like a cat refusing to bathe. Panic consumes my brain, overriding logic and reason. Shivers wrack my body until I'm sure I'll shake myself to pieces as fear turns me into a blubbering baby. He's confused, and understandably so. The woman who has caused him so much grief with her sharp tongue is now holding onto him like he's a lifeline. This is an all-time low for me. But I'll be fine as long as he doesn't ask-

"Can't you swim?"

_Ugh!_

Still shivering, I look around with wide eyes to see nothing but deep bluish-black water surrounding us on all sides. I feel dizzy, faint even. This has to be some sort of nightmare. It _has_ to be! Lord knows I've had several similar to this. Seagulls cry their ugly calls, swooping down into the water like white bullets to pull fish, gasping and flopping, out into the wide, open sky. My heart might explode. Actually, my _brain_ might explode from this sensory overload.

What happened to the trees and the mud and the _land_? What happened to the rain? Because I can handle rain. Hell, I can handle baths and the shallow end of a damn pool. But this? Being submerged in the very thing that has haunted my dreams since I was a kid? No, I can't handle this. I can't even act like I can handle this. My knuckles ache with how hard I'm gripping Kiriyama's collar. Though my head buzzes with fear, I can't help but wonder how he got us here. I open my mouth to question him but he cuts me off.

"Mina." Kiri grunts, shifting my rigid arms away from his throat. "Can you swim?"

" _No_." I bite out, a tiny bit of pride flaring up that I was able to get that out without stuttering.

"Seriously?" He chuckles and I'm tempted to choke him on purpose. "You can sweet talk a serial killer and behead a criminal but you can't swim?"

"I didn't do that on purpose!" I hiss, feeling my moral compass crack at that reminder.

The reminder that I killed somebody doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, it makes me feel like scum. It only distracts me from the fact that I'm in the middle of the sea for a fleeting moment to make me feel shame and self-loathing before the burning fear of drowning comes crashing back down on me like the waves that toss us around.

Kiriyama is quiet as the sea swells and falls. The feeling might be soothing if I had floaties on or if I was on a boat, but all it's doing right now is making me think that I might lose my grip on the serpent man. A vivid image of me sinking to the bottom of the sea plays across my mind. In response, I tighten my hold around Kiri's shoulders and waist. My body is so tense that I think I might shatter if he tries to move my arms again.

"Why can't you swim?"

_Why can't_ you _shut up?_

"That's none of your business! Just get us out of here!" I snap as he shifts around to face me and for one gut wrenching moment I dip below the surface.

He pulls me up almost immediately, his expression not nearly as apologetic as I would like. Blinking salty water out of my eyes, I freeze at the sight of a small, pitying smile on his face. Pity. Being on the receiving end of _that_ has always left a bad taste in my mouth. Tremors run up and down my spine and I refuse to meet his gaze. Gosh, this is the worst! I'm sure I look like nothing but a big baby to him! Or a drowned rat... A soft laugh makes blood rush into my cheeks.

"And here I thought the great Mina Solis could do anything." I can hear the lilt of a smirk in his voice. "She charms a killer, takes on a horde of demons, and then doesn't give up on her relentless, albeit foolish, attempts at escaping from confinement."

I think he's trying to make me feel better in his own weird, assy way. But I'm too agitated and petrified with fear to push away my ridiculous phobia and appreciate it. Right now he could say that I'm stunningly gorgeous or call me the world's greatest thespian and I would still take offense. I think that's why I suddenly match his gaze and glare fiercely before spitting out a few cruel words that wipe the slightly tender look from his eyes.

"Oh, yes. I can do everything but swim and fight off a would-be _mugger_!"

A familiar cold sheet falls over us and it isn't the chill from the air. This cold doesn't move with swift urgency like the wind. It's like being in a sauna but instead of stifling heat it's icy cold. The look on Kiriyama's face is colder than whatever it is that surrounds us, though, and I can't help but wince as guilt crawls its way over my conscience.

_But it's the truth! I mean... Oh, jeez._

I want to look away but I can't. His smooth, feminine features are schooled into a cool look of indifference as he wraps his arms around me. There's nothing consoling about this embrace. I think I'll label this hug as "Just Business." A soft humming thrums in my ears and spreads through my body, but I don't look away and neither does he.

My determination is fueled by a desire to not seem even weaker to the man and a burning curiosity to know just what the heck happens when Kiriyama does his little trick. We're engaged in the ultimate staring contest and I refuse to lose even when my vision starts to blur and my eyes start to dry up. No, wait! It's not my vision that's blurring! Kiriyama is starting to fade out as if he's a wet painting and someone smeared their finger across him. Then all the color literally drains from him until he's nothing but gray and black.

_He's turning into smoke!_

My eyes burn and the salt water that continually splashes up into my face only makes things worse. Just when I think my eyes might pop out of my head, I blink. It couldn't have been more than a split second, but when I open my eyes we're suddenly no longer in the water. I swear under my breath at having just missed out on seeing perhaps one of the most interesting things in the world.

We're standing on a creaky dock lined with warehouses and ships. The smell of salt isn't as pure as it was in the middle of the sea; it actually smells quite rotten out here. With the threat of drowning gone, my heartbeat begins to slow down. After the adrenaline stops coursing through my veins, I'm left with a painful, throbbing ache in my head and chest and my hands are shaking like mad. I groan.

_Any more of this and I'll have a heart attack._

Strong hands pry away my legs and arms, leaving me to sway unsteadily as Kiriyama attempts to straighten out his soaked robes and cloak. I look down at my own robes and readjust them, shaking my leg out as I feel my cloth pants cling to me uncomfortably. The tan fabric is clearly visible beneath the white fabric and I'm immensely grateful for the dark, wool undershirt I put on when we first started traveling. I sigh and look around before shimmying out of the pants and wringing them out.

Kiriyama throws me a questioning look but I merely shrug and drape the pants over my arm. Now I'm just in a robe, cloak, a wool tunic that thankfully goes past my hips, and some flimsy underthings. Oh, and some really dorky looking socks that are supposed to reach up my thighs but only bunch over my knees. After our first day of travel, I had rolled them down to my boots. Overall, my ensemble pre-sea soak wasn't any better than it is now. The only difference is that it's now rather sheer.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I attempt to wrap my mind around what just happened. Kiriyama and I were outside of Amaranthine, then we were suddenly in the middle of the sea, and now we're… At a port? So either Kiriyama can actually teleport or whatever the hell he did, or I'm crazy. Well, if Carrow is a mage and can do magic then it shouldn't be such a stretch of the imagination that Kiri can do something abnormal as well, right? No. Steven Kiriyama and I came from the same place. There's no magic where we're from, therefore he shouldn't have been able to do _whatever_.

_Jeez, my head might explode… I'll come back to this later. Right now, surviving is top priority._

Water slaps lazily across the dock, soaking the soft leather of my boots even more. I look up at the sky with its churning gray clouds and inhale deeply. Beneath the stench of salt and slimy fish I can smell a warm, clean scent: rain. I guess a storm is on the way. Glancing behind me I see what looks like a bar at the other end of the dock. The windows glow with warm yellow light and I can't help but tremble with anticipation at the thought of eating something hot and putting on dry clothes.

"We need to get indoors." I say, finally looking back at Kiriyama. "Where are we, anyway?"

He wraps his cloak around his body, "Denerim. It looks like we're on the docks. I've only been here one other-" He suddenly stiffens and looks down at my feet.

_Oh, no._

I've seen that look before. It was when Cheyenne and I had first moved into our dingy little apartment and a roach had perched on my shoulder. Cheyenne didn't know what to do so she just stared with a frozen expression on her face until the thing crawled into my shirt. That blank look on Kiri's face tells me that he sees something and doesn't know how to react without making me flip out. A faint scratching noise reaches my ears and I can feel something scuffing against my boot.

Okay. Chill. We're at the docks which are on the sea. What could be batting at my foot? Not a fish. It can't be a bird; I would've seen it swoop down. Having lived in a house near the port of Houston with my grandparents for most of my life, I can only guess that it's a- "Rat!" I scream, looking down in horror to see a slick black thing the size of a bunny trying to clamber its way up the skirt of my robe.

I screech and kick my leg, trying to fling the rodent off (possibly at Kiriyama) but the little bastard clings on with determination; tiny pink toes digging into the soaked fabric. I don't care that Kiriyama is right there. This will all be horribly embarrassing later, but right now I need to get this thing _off_ because now its wound its way under the robe and up my leg. An undignified squeal is ripped from my lips when the rat's sharp little nails scratch against my skin.

_Oh my God! Oh my God!_ _I can feel it_ moving _!_

"Stay still!" Kiriyama barks but I hear his voice crack with laughter.

Shame shoots through me and I blush furiously. I'm acting like such a wimp! For a moment I ignore the fact that the man has neared me, I refuse to acknowledge his presence as little daggers scrape against my sensitive skin. Then Kiriyama is pawing at the hem of my robe and oh my God, no! _No_! "You are _not_ shoving your hand up my robe!" I yelp, flailing my hands from the squirming bulge at my knee to smack at his head.

He shrugs off my pathetic attack and yanks the robe up without even bothering to check and see if anyone else is around- without a care for preserving my dignity. This has to be karma for saying all those mean things earlier! Heat sears my cheeks and I cover my face with my hands, pretending like a baby raccoon that if I can't see what's going on it's not happening. Please, this can't _possibly_ get any worse! Just when I think I might combust from the intense heat of my blush, Kiriyama slumps forward.

The sudden change in weight distribution sends me tumbling back onto the dock with Kiriyama on top of me. I gasp as the rat darts out from under my robe towards the safety of the bar, dashing away all my previous plans to eat there. Breathing heavily, I nudge Kiriyama, trying to move his head off my lower body. He groans softly against my thigh.

_What's up with him? Did he faint?_

"Tsk, tsk." Someone hums in a darkly sensual voice. "Oh, I do hate it when men get too handsy."

Quick hands carelessly push Kiriyama off of me and nearly into the sea. Then I'm pulled up off the dock by my waist and even when I've regained my balance, the lean arm remains coiled around me. Honestly, I sort of don't mind since the person is so warm and dry. Blinking a few times, I try and take in the unusual sight before me and try even harder to keep a blush from rising to my cheeks. I'm eye to, er, _throat_ , with an interestingly dressed woman.

There's this little twinkle in her dark rimmed eyes, like she's silently laughing at some inside joke. The corners of her full, oval shaped mouth are turned up in a slightly mysterious smile and her dark skin is completely flawless. Everything about her is alluring from her rich, dark curls to her voluptuous chest and hips. And she knows it.

Large breasts practically burst from her white tunic and a golden necklace draws even more attention to that particular area. She isn't even wearing pants and I'm tempted to hand her mine. I mean yeah, I've got on a see-through robe right now but I'm sure if she sits down she'll give everyone an eyeful. Deep brown eyes drink me in, trailing up and down my body lazily. Those eyes settle on my hair for a moment and a smirk curves her full lips.

"Well, today must be my lucky day. I've never met a woman with green hair before." Her smirk is both lecherous and inviting, "I know that blondes are adventurous and redheads are wild..." A slender finger skims down my scarred cheek before curling under my chin, "I wonder what you're like? Why don't you show me, sweet thing?"

_Wow... Wait, what?_

How could things have progressed so quickly with this woman? What is it: she came, she saw, she immediately wanted to screw? The confidence that radiates off of her nearly shakes me and I know instantly that she's dangerous. Or at least she knows how to get her way. Same thing. A large group of men stagger off a nearby ship, slowly getting their land legs as they crowd around behind the woman. One of them, a blond, speaks up in a rather heavy French accent, "Who is this, Captain?"

"A new friend." She drawls, looking over her shoulder at the men, "Go on ahead, I'll be there shortly."

"To The Pearl!" They cheer, stumbling up the dock towards the bar.

I watch helplessly as they go. Aw, who am I kidding? They just called this lady "Captain," of course there's no chance in hell that they would pry her away from me even if I asked nicely. My eyes dart to Kiriyama's still form and I want to kick myself. Why do I always seem to rely on this guy? He's my killer! He should be the _last_ person I seek comfort or protection from.

"So, what do you say? Want to join me and my men at The Pearl for some fun?" Captain Stranger Danger asks, jolting me out of my thoughts as her hands trail down the front of my cloak.

"Um, who are you?" I stutter, resisting the urge to bat her hands away.

"Isabela." A smirk dances on her lips. "Captain of The Siren's Call and duelist extraordinaire," Isabela states proudly.

"I'm Mina." My brow puckers, "Traveling performer."

_That will probably come back to bite me._

"Ooh, really? That sounds like a lot of _fun_."

"It is, actually. I really enjoy singing and playing instruments the most."

More like _instrument_ , singular. I can only play the acoustic guitar and even then I don't even know the notes. I play by ear, which always annoyed the hell out of my uncle when he wanted me to teach him how to play. He would complain that he taught me how to fight therefore I should at least teach him to play the guitar so he could serenade "the ladies." What a dork.

Isabela's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shoot up, "You're a bard?"

_Bard? Oh! They're those people who sing in town squares and strum lutes, right?_

I put on a slightly haughty look, trying to come off confident, "Yes, I am."

A wicked grin is thrown my way as she says, "I'm just here for the night with my men. I think they deserve a bit of a break after traveling for so long." Her look turns serious and her grip tightens alarmingly on my robe, "Know anything about a prig named Castillion? Are you his?"

Oh, crap! I guess a bard isn't exactly what I thought it was and it figures that I would end up pissing off probably the only pirate fugitive in all of Denerim with a crew of dangerous looking men at her beck and call. I wince when she shakes me. I guess telling the truth is all that can save me now, since lying has already dug me my grave. Maybe I should bat my lashes and pout my lips? She _seems_ sexually attracted enough to me for that to at least get her to stop shooting lasers at my head.

"No! I don't belong to anyone! I'm just on the run from some psychotic mage!" I insist.

This causes her to pause. "You're on the run?" Her eyes dart to Kiriyama's unconscious form, "Is he one of the mage's goons? The one who's after you?"

I shake my head furiously, "No! He's actually my traveling companion. He was just… "

Trying to get a rat off of me. Yeah, I'm not saying _that_. It's embarrassing enough that I'm out in the cold in soaked, white robes. I don't need to make a total ass out of myself by admitting that I flipped out over a tiny, disgusting rat crawling up my leg. But she seems to take the meaning of my silence way out of context as a lecherous grin tugs at her lips and she drags her eyes lazily between me and Kiriyama, "Hm. Out in the open? You two sure do know how to have fun." She lets me go and makes a signal.

_Lord have mercy…_

Possibly one of the burliest men I have ever seen clambers down from the ship. I can't help but gawk as his large muscles ripple with every movement. His hair glows like a red-gold halo in the sunlight and he glances at me before looking at Isabela. She nods toward Kiriyama's body and orders the man to take my unconscious comrade onto the ship for "safe keeping." Then she looks at me expectantly, jutting her hip out.

"Er… Yes?"

"The offer still stands if you want to join me at The Pearl." She shrugs, "Sorry for roughing you up, kitten."

The Siren's Call, her ship, bobs up and down in the water behind her and a few of her men are there on the deck, throwing me curious glances and talking amongst themselves. Elbows jab into ribs and smirks are met with leers. They remind me of a bunch of frat boys, so I ignore them, waiting for the large man to come back. Why am I waiting for him to come back? For Kiriyama, of course! Right? Right.

The Solis family has always consisted of small people. The women have delicate hands and feet and even the men are slightly dainty in appearance; which is probably the root of the whole Napoleon syndrome that I saw so often in my hot-headed Uncle Carlito and Grandpa Gabriel. So it should be understandable that large, burly, manly men and tall, statuesque women have always been a secret weakness of mine. Something Isabela seems to have picked up on if her little grin is anything to go by.

_Ugh._

"I don't know," I say, glancing up at the ship. I can't help but worry about Kiriyama's safety. What if he wakes up and freaks out, attacking everything and everyone he sees? I don't think we'll be able to take on twenty something men and a sexy pirate lady. And I'm sure his last memory is the sight of my horrible excuse for panties; a triangle of thin white cloth. I can't help but groan at that realization. So much for ever earning his respect.

"Oh, it will be so much fun. I promise," Isabela purrs, curling her fingers around the collar of my robe once more and pulling me even closer. My meager excuses for breasts are flush against her ample assets and I swallow audibly. This is very uncomfortable. I've only ever taken off clothes in front of other women when they were either already naked, too, or it was something innocent like costume changes. I don't think I'm exactly ready for what she has in mind.

Never before have I met someone so forward with their sexual advances. I mean, don't get me wrong, I used to be a beaut back in my heyday- as in before all this crap rained down on me and I ended up scarred to high hell. Well, if you have a fetish for oddly colored, over processed hair, and girls who seem to have not yet reached puberty. Wow, that description just knocked my self-esteem down a bit. Next time I'll over-embellish.

"Well," I lick my lips, trying and failing to find a convincing excuse, "what could it hurt?"

Her response is immediate, eyes lighting up as she croons, "Come now, pet. It's so very cold out! We need to get you out of these clothes before you get sick, first!"

I don't trust the wormy grin on her face, but she's right. I'm soaked to the bone and a shiver travels through my body. An inconvenient, swift gust of wind doesn't help my predicament and I can only nod when she gives me a knowing look. Thankfully, the wind throws my sopping wet hair in my face, hiding the warmth that spreads through my cheeks.

"I have just the thing for you." Isabela grins. Before I know it, I'm whisked away up onto the ship and below the deck. I can only trip after her and I realize that she's just like Kiriyama. Well, in the sense that she moves without a sound and makes me feel like a bumbling fool. She pulls me into what she extravagantly calls the "Captain's Quarters" with a seductive wink and a shake of her hips.

I'm left standing in the middle of a surprisingly spacious room made of fine wood as she rustles about in a trunk at the foot of a lavish bed. Isabela leans further into the large trunk and I catch sight of more than I expected. Yup! She definitely doesn't wear underwear! Jeez, not even when the weather is cold?

_Mina, what did you get yourself into?_

To distract myself, I look around the room. Gaudy items crowd the shelves and the walls, all competing for attention. They're all made of expensive looking materials like gold, silver, and priceless gems. I can make out what looks like some sort of ancient tome and a few subdued paintings that seem out of place, but other than that everything runs together.

Soft fabric is thrown into my face and I scramble to catch it as I practically take in a lungful of silk. Looking down, I see a pair of beige linen pants that are worn at the knees, a silky white shirt that probably belonged to a man from the musky scent it emits, and a plain black leather vest. My eyes dart up in question only to find Isabela delving into the trunk again. My heart pounds and my body trembles. Does she expect me to change right here?

I look around for a screen or another door but there's nothing. I've always been shy about showing a lot of skin but with the added scars, I think I might faint from the pressure of it all. Mouth going dry, I decide that I might as well get it over with while she's distracted. Just as I untie my cloak and let it fall heavily to the floor, under garments are thrown at me. I freeze as they fall with a breathy sigh. Slowly, my eyes lift to find Isabela watching me like a lion watches a gazelle.

_Oh…_

I clear my throat uneasily, knowing that she can see almost everything with the thin white fabric clinging to my body. Trying to ignore the awkwardness that weighs heavily on my mind, I bend over and pick up the frilly white underthings. I'm acutely aware that she's no longer digging around in the trunk of clothes as I tug off the robe and peel off the tunic and begin working on trying to unlace the bra. This is worse than any stage fright I've ever had. My heart is in my throat and I think it might explode when warm hands push away my fumbling ones to gently undo the fastenings.

"There you go." It's a soft whisper in my ear, filled with promise; a promise that I resolutely ignore. I tremble despite myself and she sees this as an invitation to press her warm lips to the chilled skin of my shoulder. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and swallow audibly as I try not to enjoy it so damn much. My gosh! I really need to get it together!

_Just focus on getting your clothes on!_

With determination, I pull on the soft bra and take a steadying breath before bending over and shimmying off my soaked underwear before pulling on the panties. Thankfully enough, she doesn't try anything else. Instead, she makes her way over towards the bed and reclines onto it. Her eyes narrow, glowing in the light of the setting sun that filters in through a porthole. The light reflects off her golden piercing and jewelry and she shoots me a daring look.

_She must be looking at these ugly things…_

My eyes dart towards the pale pink ridges on my olive skin with their faint blood-red flecks. Really, they're hideous. When the weather is too cold or if I get too hot in my sleep, they itch. And when I scratch them they hurt like you wouldn't believe. Other than that, I could almost forget I have them. But of course they're at the forefront of my mind when I'm half-naked in front of some gorgeous woman.

Quickly, I practically shove my legs into the pants and jerk them up, only slightly surprised that I don't rip them. They're a bit snug around the hips and Isabela gives a soft hum of approval. I ignore it. The shirt and vest are on in the blink of an eye and I don't think I've ever got dressed so fast in my entire life; I wouldn't be surprised if the shirt is on backwards. I'm sure my cheeks are still burning bright but hopefully she mistakes it as a trick of the light. I doubt it, though.

"Perfect." Isabela croons as she gets up and pulls a pair of brown boots out from under the bed, pulling a blue scarf off of them and tossing it aside.

I can only hazard a guess as to where she got all these clothes since they're obviously not her size and definitely aren't her style. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I pull on the knee-high boots. I'm tense, waiting for her to try something. Wishing that I had more self-esteem, I square my shoulders, straighten my back, and look up. My heart still hammers in my chest but I put on a cocky smirk, "How do I look?"

"Absolutely delectable."

I meet her eyes; rich chocolate boring into fiery cinnamon brown. Something simmers in her eyes and I immediately recognize it with a lurch of my stomach. It's a silent question, an unspoken invitation that hangs in the air between us. She's still sitting pretty on the bed, the pale blue sheets complement her glowing brown skin. I'm sure something is brewing in my gaze as well. Something akin to a deer caught in headlights: terror, confusion, and uncertainty. I'd take her up on her unspoken offer if my body image wasn't blown to shit.

"So… The Pearl?" I hum curiously, feeling acute regret and toying with the frilly lace of my top as casually as I can manage.

_Seriously? Who the heck wears this kind of thing? I must look like some corny Disney pirate!_

"Of course." Isabela grins and the tension vanishes as quickly as she pushes herself to her feet. "There's a man there with muscles to _die_ for! Not to mention he can do this amazing thing with his tongue!"

Smothering a grimace, I offer her a lopsided smile as she wraps her arm around my hips possessively and leads me to the deck. There are only a few men up top and I think they're there to keep an eye on things judging by their shifty glances. They give me knowing looks as they take in my new attire. I can only imagine what they think went on below deck. Oh! No! Bad double entendre!

_Really, Mina? What did you get yourself into?_


	8. Alcoholic Tears

**08\. Alcoholic Tears**

Golden liquid peers up at me from the depths of the tankard. A small, heart-shaped face ripples across the surface; wide, perpetually curious eyes, a slightly long nose, and a mouth that seems too small to the point of appearing "pinched" makes up the features of the visage. Everything about it is familiar until I see a sloppy gash across the tip of that too-long nose that extends in an awkward angle across the right cheek, pulling slightly at the corner of the left eye. All comfort evoked by those familiar features is dashed away, replaced by an all-consuming wave of melancholy.

_So much for looking like dad._

It's a foolish, errant thought. Especially when I consider the fact that the only pictures my grandparents ever showed me of my dad were from when he was a child and a young teen with under-developed features so unlike the face I hazily remember. When I'd asked why I only got to see those pictures, my grandma had explained that my dad didn't look very happy as he got older. Not even when I was born. So, she didn't think it would be kind to replace what few memories I had of him with such dismal images. It was a choice that I didn't think was hers, but I never said so.

Sighing, I raise the tankard to my lips and take a sip, determined to make the bitter beverage last me through the night. Beside me sits the burly man from before and I'm sure it's no accident. Isabela had quickly disappeared behind a guarded door with two eager men on her arms, but not before throwing the muscular man a meaningful look. He's been by my side ever since, offering up painfully polite conversation and various liquors and dried meats. He's cute, sure, but his personality is unfortunately dull.

The Pearl isn't a bar like I had initially thought. They serve drinks, yes, but they also serve up people. It's a _brothel_. Imagine my shock when a demure looking woman asked me what my pleasure was and then offered to set me up in a room with the man or woman of my choice. Or if I just wanted her to surprise me. It was tempting but ultimately rather embarrassing.

The front room is crowded with the crew of The Siren's Call, all filled to bursting with liquid courage and raging hormones. The only man not tripping over his own feet and words is the man Isabela "assigned" to me. I think his name is Red. It's probably a nickname considering his hair makes him look like someone set his head on fire.

"Um." Red starts another uncomfortable attempt at conversation, "Where are you from?"

I hesitate a moment, lips hovering near the rim of the mug. What do I say to that? I probably shouldn't say that I'm from another world, summoned by a psychotic mage somewhere in the South Reach for the sole purpose of destroying the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. Yeah, that won't go over well. Or maybe he'll just think I got plastered off a couple of sips of ale. Might as well wing it. "Lothering," I reply.

It's the first place that comes to mind. And judging by Red's reaction, it's probably the wrong place as well. His brown eyes narrow as he tilts his head. His eyes are the same light brown shade as his freckles, I note. They make him look young and make his bushy beard seem ridiculous. A little six year old boy would look less absurd with that Brillo pad of hair on his face. "Really? You don't sound like you're Fereldan." A meaty finger comes up to stroke through the coarse facial hair, "I don't think I've heard an accent quite like yours."

_Damn!_

"Where are you from, Red?" I deflect, swirling my ale before taking a deep pull from it. Fire erupts in my throat and chest, leaving me a sputtering mess as tears and snot stream down my face. A booming laugh nearly sends me toppling off my seat but it's nothing compared to the wrecking ball that crashes against my back. Red chokes back a few chuckles as he pats my back a couple more times before I wave him off. I roll my shoulders, nose still tingling. Okay, that's _not_ ale. That's definitely whiskey.

_Son of a gun! Now I remember why I stick to the fruity drinks!_

"I'm from Redcliffe, actually. Hence the name." Red smiles amicably.

"Seriously?" I deadpan, voice a little worse for wear.

He nods dismissively, taking a tentative sip of his water. Since that painful conversation is over, I entertain myself by looking around the dimly lit room. The men are all cheering and singing, sloshing alcohol down their fronts and getting more of it on them than in them. The place reeks of sweat and booze with the faint musk of incense and sex lingering ever-present beneath it all.

It's late, I'm sure. Judging by the numbness of my rear end, I've been sitting here nursing a tankard of whiskey and ignoring questions about whether or not the "belt matches the hat" for hours. And in this time I've gathered quite a few things; one of which being that pirates are disgusting, nothing like what the movies and cartoons make them out to be, and another is that I don't like sitting on wooden benches for long periods of time.

_It gives me too much time to think._

It's a given that my mind will wander to all the things I don't want to think about: my brother, my mom, my cat, Cheyenne, my uncle, my grandparents, even Algar, and especially Carrow. Guilt slithers around my conscience like a poisonous snake. Mike is alone because of me, left to care for an immature woman with bad spending habits. Uncle Carl has to watch over grandma and grandpa for the both of us now and Cheyenne has to pay both our shares of rent; she'll keep Mr. Chubby, though. She always did love that gray, flat-faced blob.

As for Carrow? I refuse to believe that it was always this simple to escape him. Can a man who killed so many people really be that easy to shake? Not to mention he killed one of those people right there next to me, for the sake of healing my wounds. Algar's blood is as much on my hands as it is on Carrow's. Oh! And I can't forget the highwayman I decapitated. Nothing but lovely thoughts running through my brain tonight.

_Man, I really need a drink._

I bump Red with my elbow as I polish off my whiskey. Thankfully, he can take a not so subtle hint and he pulls out a few copper coins that look like really big pennies from a pouch on his hip and he makes his way to the bar. Hell, they might actually be pennies and I'm just hallucinating- I've always been a lightweight. I watch him go, not really looking at him as I try to push all those bad thoughts to the farthest, dustiest corner of my mind. It may not be healthy, but I'd rather deal with that mess later.

"Oi, lass." A gruff voice rattles across the table from me, "Why's your hair that color? Me mates have been askin' you all night but you haven't answered one of 'em. I figure you're a noblewoman- got that highborn air about ya. Buy them pretty dyes with your pretty coin?"

It's an older man who had introduced himself earlier in the evening as Tom. Apparently he was at some important battle at a place called Ostagar from the stories he's been rattling off all day. He definitely looks experienced to me with wrinkles pressed hard into his brow and the sparse, graying brown hair that's matted on his head. He fixes me with a curious albeit severe look. Years of dirt and grime are caked under his crooked nails which he taps against the worn wooden table. When I meet his coal gaze, he parts his lips in a warm grin, exposing half-rotted teeth. I click my tongue.

_This dye job is more trouble than it's worth._

"I don't have money, if that's what you're asking, and my hair is this color because I eat a lot of vegetables. No pricey dyes for me." I drawl, tracing the rim of my empty tankard with a forefinger, "That and I cover my head with seaweed every morning, which is why I was soaked when your captain found me."

Is it so terrible that I can come up with such absurd lies off the cuff? Really, I hate lying, but sometimes it's just much better and a lot easier than actually telling the truth. I don't think telling him that I lost a bet to my mischievous but exceedingly brilliant roommate and ended up having to dye my hair an unusual color would be an easier pill for him to swallow. It would just raise more questions that I'm not in the mood to answer. And besides, I didn't like the way he said "highborn" like a slur.

Right now, I don't want to think about Cheyenne or anyone else I left behind. I want to be left alone. And why are these people so nosy? I've had practically half of the crew come up to me with the same question on their tongues. Are they really that bored? Is my hair color really that odd and does it really imply that I'm muggable (that is, rich) or something? One of the pirates has blindingly white hair and he looks younger than me, and yet _that's_ totally normal and fine?

"Really?" Tom frowns and I refrain from throwing the tankard at his head.

"Yes. You should try doing it some time. It does wonders for the scalp." I answer in a clipped tone.

So, I'm being a bit of a bitch, but everyone is lucky that I haven't had a catastrophic meltdown already. My death is still a fresh wound as are my many little one-on-one torture sessions with Carrow; which have been giving me nightmares practically every night. I'm actually surprised that I haven't flipped my shit yet. I'll give myself props later. Right now I want to drown my sorrows for the first time in my life and forget that any of this is real. I want to get so drunk that I forget who I am and how to walk.

Red returns with a fresh tankard of whiskey and I practically rip it from his hands, nearly breaking his fingers in the process. As an afterthought, I thank him quickly. Tonight I'm going to depend on alcohol to make me forget all of this crap. A few men ask me to dance but I shrug them off, my focus centered on the fiery drink in my hands.

Before I know it I've downed two more and Red is trying to get me to eat some bread. Ha! Then all the raucous laughter and crude banter stops when the front door slams open. The sound of heavy wood connecting with the wall practically splits my head in half. But it's nothing compared to the deep voice that bangs off my eardrums.

"Mina!"

_Aw, hell. Here comes trouble._

I should have stuck to my golden rule of "one and done." But the pleasant buzzing in my body and the lovely way the room sways brings a wide grin to my face and I wonder why I don't do this more often. I'm not even fazed as a tall, shirtless man in the world's tightest pants comes through the entryway and storms up to me. The warm light of the torches dances across his tattooed arms and I'm hypnotized. My goodness, I've never seen a prettier man in my entire life! Well, aside from that one guy. But he's a jerk so he doesn't count.

"Mina!" The man hisses once the pirates start their songs back up.

_How does he know my name?_

He's looming over me, hand practically snapping the table in half as he grips the edge of it. A violent tremor travels through his body and fire burns in his eyes. That irritated, superior look on his face is awfully familiar, though. Emerald eyes flecked with gold narrow and glint evilly, promising endless pain and suffering. Oh yes, that look is very familiar. "Kiriyama!" I laugh, eyeing his pants and boots, "Where's your shirt?"

"That's what I'd like to ask you." Kiri growls lowly.

I blink, "What? But I'm wearing a shirt! You're the one being all inappropriate."

"Mina! What happened? I woke up on a ship dressed like _this_ and some man tells me the 'Captain' has taken you to a whorehouse!"

Ants crawl over my legs and I stomp my feet to get the feeling back in them. I sure do hate it when my legs go numb. It hurts so much when you have to drag your feet and you can't help but laugh at the uncomfortable feeling. I remember this one time when I took my brother to an outdoor hippy-dippy concert and our legs went numb. We were trying and failing to get up and walk but then Mike's ankle bent in this unnatural angle and it wasn't funny anymore. He had to go to the hospital and my mom didn't let me see him for almost a month… God, it was only a damn sprain and she acted like I committed genocide.

"Are you even paying attention?" Kiriyama asks coldly, wrenching me from my thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, no. Wait! I mean yes!" I snort, hiding a grin behind my hand.

"Then tell me what the hell happened." He's gone awfully quiet. A stony, calm expression consumes the fire in his eyes and he crosses those painted arms across his chest. I can't help but fixate on an image of a red devil eating a samurai on his left bicep. Jeez, that's pretty gruesome. I'd hate to be eaten alive.

_Why is he staring at me? Oh! Right!_

"Captain Isabela thought you were molesting me." I hum, toying with a strip of jerky before popping it into my mouth, "So, she knocked you out. I told her it was a mistake so she had Red over here put you on the ship. I can't tell you why you're dressed like an exotic dancer, though."

Pink engulfs Kiri's cheeks, dripping down onto his neck and chest like strawberry milk. Beside me, Red chuckles nervously. It's an odd sound that's so different from his previous booming laughter; like a pigeon cooing. It makes me crack up laughing. "Sorry. I'm the one who changed you." Red admits. "But the Captain's the one who told me to dress you in those!" He adds hastily when reptilian eyes attempt to set him ablaze.

A tense silence fills the air between the three of us but I shrug it off and knock back my ale. Red decided to give me ale instead of whiskey after my third drink but I'm not complaining. It stings like crazy but it keeps Carrow's ugly mug tucked into the farthest recesses of my mind. Sighing, I turn my eyes up to see Kiriyama taking the seat across from me.

_Where'd that oldster go?_

As if answering my question, Tom starts singing out of tune quite loudly, hanging off the shoulder of the blond Frenchman. It sounds like he's trying to sing some French song judging by the nasally tone of it, which the blond is singing perfectly. When they start dancing around, I grin and make to go join them but a vise-like grip keeps me from leaving the table.

"We have to go." Kiriyama says, watching me grimly, "And you're drunk. Even more reason for us to go. For all I know, you're one of those people who turns into a blabber mouth when they get a drop of alcohol in them." Of course I wince and he scowls. I guess I lose the filter for my facial expressions as well when I'm drunk. He sighs, "What did you tell them?"

"I only told Captain Crunch that we're being chased by a psycho mage." I chortle nervously, "She seemed pretty understanding! I don't think she'll rat us out."

Kiriyama hisses something from between his teeth and I jolt back. He really is a snake! "Come on," Kiri grunts, tugging me up from my seat by my arm like a parent with a fussy child.

"Now, now. That's no way to treat a lady." That sensual voice like hot, dark chocolate drowns out the clank of glasses and cacophony of masculine voices. Isabela steps out from the guarded door looking quite pleased with herself but there's a dangerous glint in her eyes. I dart my eyes back to Kiriyama to see that, yup, he has that same look simmering in those golden, moss colored eyes. And here I am, standing in the crossfire like an idiot. I move to go back and finish my ale but Kiri turns me to stone with a withering glare.

_Sheesh, if looks could kill…_

"Who are you?" Kiriyama asks, tugging me behind him.

"Isabela, the captain of this crew," Is gestures around the room at the drunken pirates. "And you are?"

"That's none of your-"

"Call him Kiriyama." I sigh, rubbing my temples, "Man you're a serious buzzkill, Kiri."

The pleasant buzzing in my body isn't fading away at all, but the harsh glare and little growl that Kiriyama gives me sobers me up in an instant. Raising my arm, I cough uncomfortably into my elbow and glance up to find Isabela with a thoroughly amused look on her face. She asks innocently, "So _Kiriyama_ , what's the rush? Mina already told me about your little predicament."

"Right. So you should understand that we can't waste time in one area for too long." He huffs impatiently, "We're leaving."

"Hold on. Is this mage currently in Ferelden?"

"Yes," I answer on Kiriyama's behalf since he's busy trying to drag me out the door with Isabela hot on our trail.

"Then how about this: I give you two a ride out of Ferelden and up to Antiva? You'll be far enough away from that big bad mage."

Kiriyama halts and I slam into his back, leaving a sloppy kiss on his spine. He jerks and slightly pushes me away but still keeps a firm grip on my arm. Piercing eyes dart from me to Isabela and I suddenly realize how tired he looks. When we were on the road, he looked perfectly healthy, but right now he has bags under his eyes and his skin is a bit ashen. What's wrong with him?

"What's the catch?" Kiri asks.

A devious little smirk crawls across Isabela's face as she rests her hands on her hips, "I already gave you two clothing and shelter without asking for anything in return. Why can't this be done out of the goodness of my heart? Haven't I already proven myself worthy of your trust?"

Kiriyama eyes her cautiously. "You did leave Mina unharmed," he states slowly, "so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. For now." He tugs me along and leads me outside, "We're going to your ship. But just know that if you make one wrong move, I won't hesitate to kill you."

Wow. This guy is really intense. He's sort of like a really pretty, tall, tattooed human bulldog. As I stumble after him into the night, I glance over my shoulder and see Isabela watching us. Her figure is illuminated with a warm, orange glow from the torches and I catch sight of a different kind of smirk on her face. This woman likes a challenge. And Kiriyama is the ultimate challenge.

* * *

The ship sways with the motions of the sea- something that puts me on edge. I can only fixate on the fact that only a few planks of wood separate me from the icy darkness, so I'm caught off guard when a scratchy blanket is thrown my way. It lands on me in a stinky, damp heap, and I glare at Kiriyama. Well, I glare at his figure. Only a bit of moonlight streams in through a few portholes, allowing me a very limited view of my companion. "Thanks," I sigh, pushing the musty smelling blanket down over my legs.

"No problem."

My head is still swimming from all the alcohol but I'm aware enough to know that this is an uncomfortable silence. Gold glitters from the shadows and I know he's staring at me. Shifting nervously, I decide to break the silence. "Thanks for... well, for helping me escape. And for allowing us to leave with Isabela."

"No problem."

I frown and scoff. Is that all he can say? Tugging the blanket up to my hips, I shoot a glare in his general direction but for all I know I'm glaring at a pile of rope. Teeth dig into my tongue, "Would it kill you to be a bit more responsive? My gosh, I feel like I'm trying to talk to a robot!"

He sighs, a deep, breathy noise that makes me gnaw on my lip. I feel like a bundle of nerves. I didn't mean to irritate him. Oh, who am I kidding? I practically live to get reactions out of people. That's why I act, that's why I change my hair color all the time. Well, except for that last time… Kiriyama suddenly snaps, "We're only traveling with that woman because I'm tired. Once I get my energy back, we're leaving."

_Energy? Tired?_

"So, you need a nap?"

He actually chuckles but it sounds tinny and hollow, "No. I'll need more than just a nap if I'm going to keep us out of Carrow's reach."

This sounds really odd... and important. I feel like I should be making note of this but bees still assault my brain and my senses are still dulled. Even my tongue feels numb and useless as I speak and my body feels much too warm in the damp cold. Licking my lips, I shrug off my vest and fold it in my lap. Heart thudding nervously, I throw it in Kiri's direction. The sharp snap of leather being snatched out of the air reaches my ears.

"What's this?"

"A vest," I reply shortly. "Put it on. It's cold and I already have a shirt on."

He grunts his thanks and I can hear those deft fingers quickly buttoning and pulling at laces. I feel a bit better knowing that he isn't completely shirtless with me... in the dark... Shaking my head, I try to clear it of all questionable scenarios and focus instead on getting to know my ally in a different sense. _Much_ different. With clothes _on_. Damn all that whiskey.

_Dear Lord, give me strength…_

"So, tell me about yourself. Got a girl? A guy? Maybe some kids?"

He's quiet for a moment before replying, "None of the above."

"Oh."

A pregnant pause.

"Do you? Have a boyfriend, I mean… _Had_ a boyfriend?" He corrects slowly, as if slowing down his words will lessen their impact on me.

At first I want to laugh at his immediate assumption that I'm straight as an arrow, but the gravity of his words hit me. Ha. Right. _Past_ tense. Everything we ever had or ever were is just a distant memory now. The thought alone makes me bitter and I can't help but feel that it's partly Kiriyama's fault. Actually, I think it's his entire fault. My stomach clenches painfully and I blame it on the alcohol. "No. I didn't. I only had my best friend and my family. Did you have family? Friends?" My voice becomes harsher the more I speak but I can't help it.

"In the end, I had no one."

_That's… sad…_

All the bitterness dissolves. I only wish I could see his face to know if he's just jerking me around or if he's actually serious. But who would lie about that? People like to come across as successful and enviable, not pathetic. Besides, how would I know if he was lying about being a success? He could easily lie to me and I would be none the wiser! At the risk of having him shut me out, I continue to poke and prod, "What happened to your family?"

Dead silence.

I wait maybe ten minutes, pulling at the prickly threads of the blanket all the while until I make a sizable hole in it. My fingers twitch, my heart squeezes, and I sigh. Maybe he fell asleep? I listen carefully but I don't hear heavy breathing. My eye twitches in irritation. I hate being ignored. I clear my throat, "Kiriyama?"

He sighs, "What?"

_C'mon, c'mon! Get answers! Don't wuss out now!_

"What happened to your family? If you tell me, I'll tell you about mine," I bargain lamely.

Why would he want to know about my family? That's a weak deal. He'll never talk about it. I'm greeted with silence again and I almost scream when he speaks softly, "My mother was an elementary school teacher and my father owned a dojo in West Houston. He taught me how to defend myself with my fists and my mother taught me how to defend myself with words. They were both so different from each other, they always argued over how to raise me." He sighs and moves from his place on the floor to perch on a crate and I can see him almost clearly now.

I smile, "Sounds like my grandparents."

Kiriyama hums to let me know he heard me before continuing, "Every year we would go to Japan to see relatives during the Sakura Festival in Okinawa. But one year, when I was fifteen, I was slacking off in school and to punish me for my bad marks my parents didn't take me. They left me with some family friends." He pauses and from the pained expression on his face I think I know what happens next, "The plane crashed. Engine failure, they said. Everyone said I was lucky, but I definitely didn't feel like it. Thinking back, it was a stupid thing to say to a kid who just became an orphan, but... they were just trying to help. The last thing I said to my parents was that I hated them. I was just a stupid, bratty kid."

I look away. I feel as if I'm encroaching on some private moment and the urge to get up and stumble up to the deck is very tempting. But I don't. It would be pretty assy of me to just get up and leave him after he revealed something so personal. So, I stay and I wait out the tense silence. Minutes pass. I clear my throat, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You're not the one who made the damn plane crash." Kiriyama snaps and I jump.

_Cool it. Don't yell, he's just venting._

"Right." I bite out, "Well, my turn. I had a younger brother named Michael. He was always really serious; never cried when he was a baby and he acted like the older sibling when he grew up." I chuckle sadly as my heart aches, "He was big for his age and wasn't shy about throwing his weight around. Now that I think about it, he was probably a bully at school." I frown, "He always _did_ say he couldn't tolerate stupidity. I just thought he was talking about me."

Kiri actually chuckles at that, "And your parents?"

"Oh, right. Um... Well, my mom was an artist- local, though you probably never saw any of her stuff. She was also a major hypochondriac, always going to the doctor because a spot on her elbow was _definitely_ skin cancer and her cough was _most certainly_ tuberculosis. But I didn't live with her. At least, not for too long." My fingers start playing with the frayed edges of the blanket, "When I was six my dad left. My mom was pregnant at the time and she couldn't deal with the stress of raising two kids by herself, so she sent me to live with my dad's parents. And that's the story of my family."

I won't say any more about that. I used to feel pretty shitty about it and sometimes I would find myself resenting my brother, thinking our mom picked him over me. That was a bad time. But I don't feel bitter about it now. Right now I just miss Mike so much that it hurts. I want my baby brother back. I want my old life back. Tears sting my eyes and I bite my tongue harshly to keep from crying.

Tilting my head back to rest it against the wall, I peer at the tall man. His long legs are bent awkwardly over the crate, a large hand resting on his knee. The leather vest is tied together but the laces are pulled taut across his chest, exposing pale skin and hints of vibrant tattoos. My eyes lock with his and my stomach lurches as I'm taken back to a night long ago. Mouth going dry, I ask, "Did you kill people often?"

_Oh... No!_

I'm in for it now. Here we are, having a nice and sort of melancholy bonding time and I have to shove my foot in my mouth. He'll probably strangle me because it's personal. Or he'll be really nasty and toss me into the sea to watch me drown.

"No," is Kiriyama's stiff reply. "You were the first."

Ice freezes my brain, my blood, my heart. I wasn't expecting an answer. Sure I was expecting violence _in answer_ , but not an honest to goodness confession. I was the first person he ever killed? How... I mean what? "Why?" It comes out like a croak. Throat dry, constricted, I can barely even think much less articulate the warring emotions inside of me. Shock, confusion, and overwhelming sadness. I want to be angry, to lash out with that anger, but I just can't do it.

"You weren't supposed to fight back."

_But fighting back is all I do!_

Fighting back is what I've done for years! Someone calls me mean things? Cut them down to size with a biting remark. Someone cuts ahead of me in line? Make a scene and tell them they'd better move their sorry ass to the back if they know what's good for them. Someone tries to mug me at a Laundromat? Tell them to screw off, take a swing at them when they get too close, and end up gutted on the floor.

"Why?" Great, I'm so shocked that I'm stuck on repeat, but Kiriyama seems to form another question in his head from that simple word. I wish he hadn't. I _really_ wish he hadn't.

"I was pressed for cash. I had lost my job, alienated my friends, and you looked like an easy target."

I don't know how it happens. I thought I was too shocked to do anything, I mean I could barely talk. But somehow I'm throwing myself across the room, hands outstretched as I land on Kiriyama. Once on him, my emotions take over and I start punching and clawing and slapping. He doesn't move. He just sits there on the crate, back supported against the wall as he holds my waist.

"You bastard!"

I scream it over and over and over like a broken record until my throat is hoarse and all that comes out are half-strangled sobs and frustrated cries. The fact that he remains impassive, staring at the wall behind me with a stony expression, does me in. Collapsing in a heap on his chest, I cry. A warm hand moves from my waist to rub circles on my back. I shrug him off and push away. I can't bear the sight of him right now. I turn to stare out of the porthole; the black water is illuminated by silvery light.

"This is your fault. It's all your fault!" I round on him, shaking with barely contained rage, "I should be _dead_! I shouldn't be here but here I am and I'm not even changing! Nothing about me is changing! This stupid dye should be growing out by now but it isn't! It's been over five weeks and my- I haven't-!" I choke back a sob.

_I can't do this._

Storming back over towards the blanket, I throw it over myself and huddle into a tiny ball on the floor. Silence deafens me, numbs me until exhaustion overwhelms and consumes me. I can only hope that I don't remember any of this in the morning.


	9. Ulysses' Dreams

**09\. Ulysses' Dreams**

A hammer bangs on my eyes, my throat constricts, and my stomach flips like a world-class gymnast. "God, why?" I groan. Stiffly, I try to move. Joints crack and pop as I get out of a fetal position and wobble to my feet. White light filters in through two grimy portholes, effectively blinding me as I fall against the wall. Prying my eyes open, I spot a door. Everything just looks so extremely fuzzy and pale, like it's all washed out. Is this a dream, or...?

A thick blanket with a large hole in it wraps around my booted feet when I make for the door and I stumble to a halt. The gray thing stinks. I can smell its putrid stench, like sweat and other disgusting body fluids, even though it's on the floor. Coarse strands poke out from the oval-shaped hole, the toe of my scuffed, second-hand boot clearly visible beneath it. With a sigh, I kick the blanket towards the far wall and continue towards the door. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

" _What_ did I tell you?"

_Wait._

That voice, like liquid nitrogen, so airy but so cold. So familiar. Needles replace my blood, dragging through my body and piercing my heart. I'm surprised I don't explode from shock. If such things can happen, it would happen to me. I should run. Really, I should. But I'm frozen to the spot, arms stuck to my sides and feet paused mid-stride. The door looks like it's miles away.

"Well?" The voice prompts impatiently, "What did I tell you?"

My jaw works slowly but my brain is going a mile a minute, "You told me... You told me to take care of the bandits and to go to the manor for dinner afterward," I reply dutifully.

A sigh ghosts over my shoulder, ruffling my hair and prompting me to shut my eyes tight and bite on my tongue. _Hard_. I wait for the pain, for my body to go flying like a ragdoll into the wall. I wait for my mind to erupt in scattered, incoherent thought, leaving me not only defenseless but senseless. My body stiffens further as I expect the various methods of torture that his wicked mind can come up with.

"I waited for such a long time, you know. Maker's mercy, Mina! I made _so_ much horse stew and it all went to waste! And you aren't even remotely apologetic," he huffs. "The stew was delectable, so you know. You really missed out on a delightful meal. And the mansion, too! The Amaranthine mansion is just splendid. Simply splendid! The flowers in the garden are in full bloom this time of year, exactly how I remember it as a child," he trails off wistfully. "I feel a bit sorry for you; stuck in a smelly old boat with nasty pirates. But it was all your doing, you know. You have no one to blame but yourself."

I purse my lips, "Sorry I couldn't make the dinner date. Something came up."

_Ooh. Talkin' smack to the crazy man! Not a smart move…_

"Oh, you _are_ a delight!" He chuckles and something tightens around my ankle but I don't look down, don't want to look down. "But where is our dour little Steven Kiriyama? That sneaky bugger needs a stern talking to, I tell you what. I specifically told him not to use his power! And what does he do?" He continues on in one exasperated breath, "He uses it left and right for every little thing! Now I have to revitalize him. Such a bother!"

_Revitalize?_

I don't want to see his skeletal face or his silky blond hair or his stitched on smile, but my curiosity is killing me. Damn my curiosity! So many questions gnaw on my brain from "How the hell did you find us?" to "What color are those pretty flowers?" I make to turn around but whatever it is around my ankle tightens to the point that I hear my bones creak. With a wince, I look down to see a gray mass wrapped around my boot. My eyebrows furrow in confusion but that immediately turns into terror when the oval hole twitches and starts to move.

"I'll have to sort him out, you know. He really is quite a mess, given the state of things." The blanket sags in two areas, making what my imagination assumes are eyes, "Oh! I just came up with the _niftiest_ idea! Why don't you pep him up for me? I can't zip from place to place like the dear man, but I can do a bit of an energy transfer. You're quite receptive, are you not?" The indentations curve up in the middle in some freaky expression that I can only guess is expectant.

"I... Uh…"

The eyes narrow and the mouth is pulled into a crooked frown, "Out with it, girl! Oh! Are you distracted by the blankie? Ha! How droll! Simply droll!" His hollow laughter bounces around the fuzzy room as I continue to gape, "This is simple magic, my dear. Very simple. The demons from your realm know not of this cute charm? No? Hm, quite fascinating."

"Ha... Haha... Yeah, yeah. We-uh, we don't know charms, per se." I sputter, still gawking down at the talking blanket, "Um. What were you saying about a-a what now?"

_Smooth. I bet he totally bought that._

"An energy transfer, yes. Kiriyama is too depleted to use any energy to revive himself, but if I give it to _you_ , you'll be able to get him up and running about in no time! But I really must be going now." The hole crinkles on the sides, pulling up like a toothless smile, "I will be seeing you quite soon, my dear. Please be safe. You know that I still need you and our little devil."

I jolt up so fast that my head pounds painfully. The deafening rush of blood in my ears buzzes as I slump against the wall behind me. Looking around with wild eyes, I notice that the room is bathed in silvery blue light so unlike the blinding white I saw just moments ago. Crates and bundles of rope and discarded blades of various sizes crowd the area; all sharp and in focus. A tall figure is reclining on a crate, back flush against the wall with its chest rising and falling steadily.

_Kiriyama._

My own chest moves erratically with the thumping of a startled heart, cold sweat covering my body like a thin sheet.

_Speaking of sheets…_

Itchy gray cloth is wrapped around me from the waist down like a smelly cocoon. It's off of me and thrown across the room in an instant. I breathe heavily through my nose, trying to rid my nasal cavity of the stagnant odor that seems to be stuck with me. I'm on my feet quickly and moving towards Kiriyama before I even know what I'm doing. Still a bit unsteady on my feet from the alcohol, I grip the edge of the crate on either side of his legs and just stare at him. And stare.

What am I doing? What am I looking for? Am I even looking for anything? The angular planes of his face glow white in the moonlight. His bow-shaped mouth is set in a soft frown that gently tugs the corners of his pink lips. Then I notice something that makes me ache. Semi-dry lines trail drown from beneath dusky lashes to the curve of his hard jaw. He cried? But... Wait... He... He  _cried_? What for?

My lips part in awe. I stop breathing, my focus set on his closed eyes. Dark circles accentuate his eye sockets and I realize just how gaunt he looks from his hollowed cheeks to his worn, shockingly frail body. Carrow's words echo in my mind, about how Kiri was using his power too often and how he shouldn't be doing so. Is this the toll that it takes on him? Will it kill him?

He mumbles something in his sleep, brow puckering slightly before his expression smooths out once more. His eyelids twitch and I swallow hard. Man, I feel like such a creep just watching him sleep. And even creepier, I start to trace the prominent lines of his sternum and ribs. He's ice-cold to the touch. If it weren't for the rising of his chest and the soft sigh of his breath, I would think he was dead.

Suddenly, I jerk back as my fingers are burned where I touch him. A hiss escapes my lips as I cradle my right hand to my chest, little white blisters rimmed with inflamed red erupting on the sensitive skin. My eyes dart up to Kiriyama and I freeze. The same dark energy I had seen so many times around Carrow pulses in the air. It swirls like black smoke, filling the room and swallowing up Kiri's prone form. Without thinking, I rush forward and attempt to grab him but my fingers close around nothing but smoke.

"Ki-!" I start to scream but nothing comes out. This must be another dream. This has to be one of those annoying dreams within a dream! I pray that I wake up even as I feel my lungs begin to fill with thick blackness. I'm suffocating, choking on that evil energy, blinded into tears as it burns my eyes. The only thing I can feel is the hard wood digging into my knees and the hot tears that stream down my face.

_This is a nightmare. It's just a nightmare!_

Despite my frantic, internal ramblings, cold panic consumes my brain. Just when I think my lungs might burst, the smoke disappears as quickly as it filled the room. Everything is blue once more, all traces of roiling smoke gone. A gasp rips through me and Kiriyama jolts awake. He's on his feet in a heartbeat, eyeing me warily before taking a tentative step in my direction. "What happened?" He asks lowly, eyes darting around the room as muscles twitch beneath his skin.

_Hold on._

I drink him in. He looks... healthy. There aren't any bags under his eyes, his bones are hidden under a nice layer of supple flesh, and his movements are quick and alert. Was he like this before? Was he always like this? Jeez, I really need to lay off the alcohol if I'm going to have such vivid dreams. I swallow hard and start to stand, putting one hand on my knee to hoist myself up. Fire shoots through my fingertips.

_No…_

I offer Kiri an irritated look as I stand straight, discreetly hiding my badly burned hand behind my back as I scream inside my head. Hazel eyes narrow to slits. I can't look into those eyes without thinking about what he told me about his motive for killing me. Why must I have such a good memory? I puff out my chest like an agitated bird and prepare to lambaste him. But then I catch sight of those stupid tear streaks and my dumbass conscience reprimands me. I can't help but remember what he told me about his family, either.

"Nightmare. Going to the bathroom." I shrug as I shoulder the door open, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. "If they have one." I add. "If not, I'll do it over the railing."

With that, I make my way towards the rickety stairs and up to the deck. Salty air hits me full force and I practically shrivel up. A few men move along the deck, some nod politely while others ignore my existence. I don't mind. The stinging in my hand is far more pressing than whether or not some man I don't even know smiles at me.

The moon is high in the sky, turning every person its light touches into a ghost. Eyes narrow slightly as I look at the inky water all around us, ears perk at the sound of water lazily slapping against wood. God, I hate water. Well, I hate _deep_ water. But now I can't think of my silly phobia, no matter how crippling it is. I gulp down the humid, salty air as I make my way to the front of the ship.

Leaning against the railing, I look down at my hand. The callused palm stretches out in the light and my eyes trace over every little line until I make my way up to my fingertips. Every tip but my thumb is seared red with little white pustules of fluid, the surrounding flesh an angry pink. I wince just at the sight of it. Really, what the hell was all that? Was that instant karma for stroking a sleeping person's chest like a creep? If that's going to happen every time I touch Kiriyama, then I need to invest in some gloves. Thick gloves.

"Looks like we have ourselves a night owl."

I jolt at the sound of a familiar, sultry voice and immediately hide my hand behind my back. Of course it's suspicious, and Isabela isn't some oblivious bimbo. Two elegant eyebrows arch up in a silent question. Gosh, why can't I be surrounded by people who actually make noises when they walk? I swear, just getting to the railing I sounded like I was hammering something to a wall. "Captain," I nod, forcing a smile.

She tilts her head in greeting, her usual sly smirk crawling its way across her face, "Nasty burn you have there. What happened?"

_Medieval times... What can burn me here? Fire? Fire! Okay, that's good._

"I'm pretty terrible at lighting candles," I sigh, bringing my hand back into view.

"Ouch. Looks painful." She murmurs, sidling up to me and grasping my wrist, "You know what's good for burns?"

_I swear, if I have to hear another dirty joke…_

"What?"

"Cold water!" She grins, letting go of me, "Bet you thought I was going to say something nasty, huh?" I laugh and she gives me a warm smile. "But seriously, come with me and I'll get you straightened out."

Honestly, I don't even have a say in the matter as she drags me down a familiar path to her room. Every nook and cranny is lit up like Christmas with a plethora of candles. She practically shoves me onto her bed and orders me to stay put with a wag of her finger before leaving. Great. Time alone. Time alone means time to think. Time to think means I'm going to end up wallowing in self-pity. Here we go.

The burn on my hand is real, which means all that freaky smoke was real, which means Carrow really contacted me... Which means he _knows_ where Kiriyama and I are and he's coming for us... Which means we are completely and utterly screwed. My heart seizes when the door slams open. Immediately I think "God, no! It's Carrow!" and I almost cry in relief when I see a confused pirate lady holding a basin of water.

"You all right, sweet thing?"

Lips twitch into a weak smile, "Yes, I'm fine."

She throws me an unconvinced look as she saunters over and kneels before me, "Really? Because you look like you might drop dead at any moment. Do you find me that devastatingly attractive?"

I snort in response. I have to hand it to the woman, she really knows how to distract people from their problems. A genuine smile makes its way onto my face as I dip my fingers into the chilly water. At first it's almost too painful to bear, but then sweet relief floods through my system as my fingertips start to go numb. I look up from the rippling surface to see two intense brown eyes staring at me. Heat floods my cheeks as I rub self-consciously at my scar. "What is it?" I mumble.

"Nothing," she rocks back onto her heels and looks up at the ceiling. An uneasy silence fills the air as I stare at my hand and she continues to look at the ceiling. My mind drifts back to Carrow and I begin to wonder if maybe I should have told Kiriyama what happened. Gosh, this is just too much. Why won't anyone cut me some freakin' slack? Can't Carrow just, I don't know, have an aneurysm?

Finally, Isabela shoots me a grin and sets the basin on the floor. She stands up, hands on her hips. "Want to get drunk?"

"Ugh, yes!"

* * *

Captain Isabela doesn't get drunk. Sure, she drinks ale like water and knocks back rum like a shot of cough medicine, but she never gets _drunk_. I, however, get completely and utterly plastered. So here I am (probably red in the face and hanging off the woman like a keychain) while she laughs and tells me of her various sexual conquests. I stopped listening after the first one made me choke on my drink, but her voice is nice to listen to.

"So, tell me about you and that delicious looking man with the scowl." She wiggles her eyebrows, "Anything happening there?"

I rotate my golden goblet between my hands distractedly, "No. We're just friends. Actually, we aren't even friends."

She takes a sip from her own extravagant, jewel-encrusted goblet- just one of many gaudy trinkets that she covets like a cat with shiny things, "If nothing is going on, then do you mind if I try him out?"

_Ha! I'd love to see someone hit on that frigid guy._

Quirking an eyebrow, I lean back in my chair, "You don't need _my_ permission, but go on ahead."

Oddly enough, she looks disappointed. Her brow furrows and her lower lip pouts. I nearly fall for it and almost ask her what she wants, whatever she wants all she needs to do is tell me and I'll do it. But I don't and I think that disappoints her even more because her pout turns into a full-on frown and she crosses her slender arms across her chest, fixing me with those smoldering eyes.

"You just don't know how to play the game, kitten." She sighs, "When I ask if something is going on between you and someone else and you answer 'no,' I ask for permission to bed them. You're supposed to get jealous and order me to bed _you_ instead, and then we have some girly fun. Understand?"

I almost choke at _girly fun_. "Nope." I drawl and lazily swirl the ruby colored liquid in my goblet, "I'm not following. Hate to break it to you, Captain, but I was never any good at games. That's why I stuck to singing and playing instruments out of tune."

A grin spreads across her face, "I'll play _you_ like an instrument and make you sing." She purrs, "And I'll do it all perfectly _in tune_."

_She's got me there._

Laughter bubbles up in my throat but I force it away. Too bad I can't hide my grin. There's just something about this lady that makes me laugh and cheers me up. Maybe it's that she never seems to take anything seriously or that she actually seems to care enough to try to get me in a good mood? Although I appreciate her knack for getting me out of a funk, I'm not really feeling _that_ appreciative at the moment.

"Sorry, Cap." I stand and mentally pat myself on the back for not swaying. "Maybe some other time, but not tonight."

_I have way too much on my mind right now._

Her eyes bore holes into my back as I make my way from her comfy little table to the door. "I'll hold you to that, then." She calls, sounding mildly amused.

Waving over my shoulder, I leave the room and allow my inebriation to show once the door closes. I stumble down the hall in search of my shared quarters with Kiriyama and I practically bump into everything a person could possibly bump into. Then I get to thinking that I'm bumping into all of this crap just to slow myself down. I'm certainly not looking forward to seeing Kiri, not even a bit.

First off, I don't know how to behave around him after his little tell-all. Part of me wants to rip his eyes out but my stupid, softer side can't help but linger on the fact that he lost his parents when he was just fifteen. Maybe some other things happened in his life that contributed to him going rotten; other, more horrible things that would turn him into a thug... who just so happened to kill me?

My fist flies out to collide with a wall. I lean my forehead against the cool wood, fist still braced against the wall as pain slowly begins to burn into my knuckles. My body is shaking and it isn't because I'm trying to fight off the effects of the alcohol. Warmth pools in the corners of my eyes before spilling over, my hand slides down with a couple of scratches and a splinter or two stuck in the flesh.

Air burns my nostrils as I take a steadying breath. I have to tell him about Carrow. That conversation may have been a dream, but what happened afterward definitely wasn't one. The blisters on my fingers aren't part of my imagination. Isabela _saw_ them, for crying out loud! I felt the pain, felt the relief brought on by the water. It was as real as anything I've ever felt. And Carrow is really coming for us. He really knows where we are.

Though I may hate Steven Kiriyama now and I might damn him to hell, I owe it to him to tell him this information. With my mind set, I trip my way around sleep-deprived men and crates of who knows what. Before I know it, I'm at the door to my temporary bedroom and I push it open before I lose my nerve or decide that I'd rather leave my killer in the dark. He's not there.

* * *

I wish I had a life vest. Or some water wings. Maybe even an inner-tube. The idea of ditching Ferelden on The Siren's Call with Isabela and her tough crew seemed like a really good one at the brothel. Then again, I was full of ale and she was brimming with charisma, so I had two things working against my better judgment. I wonder why Kiriyama didn't put up more of a fight?

_Probably because of those mean things I said. Jeez, Mina! No wonder he's been avoiding you!_

I haven't seen hide or tail of Kiriyama since that one night. When I went to the room and he wasn't there, my first thought was that he had ditched me- teleported away because he was already fed up with my bullshit. But a passing deckhand assuaged my fears after opening the door when he heard me tearing apart the room. He said that Kiriyama had requested to sleep with the rest of the crew. Away from _me_.

Immediately the next day I sought him out to apologize for going all emotional-Chernobyl on him and to divulge all the details of what really happened when he found me crying in the middle of the room. But he dodged me at every turn. I would like to say that I'm a mature young woman. I'd like to be able to proudly announce that I _always_ have the best interests of others in mind when I make decisions... But that would be a big, fat lie.

Kiriyama's blatant refusal to see me effectively slaughtered any and all desire to say sorry or to even clue him in on the little fact that Carrow is hot on our trail. Guess he'll get the memo a bit late when the nutter finally catches up to us and executes us. Well, he'll enslave us first, use us to do God only knows what, and _then_ he'll kill us. There, that's his plan in a nutshell. No pun intended. For the days that we've been out at sea, I've been mentally preparing myself for another gory death.

_Hurray for optimism!_

To make matters worse, when Isabela isn't trying to drink me under the table or get in my pants, she's been dogging my steps and asking all sorts of questions about Kiriyama; all of which I don't have the answers to. So, being the storyteller that I am, I made up stuff. Now Isabela thinks Steven Kiriyama is a celibate sword-for-hire who angered a powerful mage by attempting to assassinate his beautiful songstress (how very humble of me, I know). And now that mage is after both of us because Kiriyama whisked me away with the promise of a free life once he realized that I was being held against my will.

_Overly romanticized? Yes. I should write screenplays._

Too bad she gobbled that story up like candy and now has this annoying look of respect in her eyes every time she looks at the murdering bastard. Her attempts at seducing him have increased ten-fold and after that story I was put on the back burner. Well, as much as someone can be put on the back burner with how attentive Isabela is. Frankly, I've received more attention from this _on_ e woman in just a few days than I did in all four years of high school and two years of college combined.

_And now she's_ _all over_ _Kiriyama. But why am I even thinking about that?_

The ship lurches to the left and I squeeze my eyes shut. We've been on the ship for a few days and the sky has steadily grown darker and darker along with my mood. The clouds churn like my troubled mind and it's been raining as often as I cry... which is admittedly a lot. One morning, the man called Tom had sidled up to me when I was looking to see that the sun was yet again smothered by thick, gray clouds, and he said that this was all because of something called "The Blight."

"Darkspawn are the worst beasts I've ever seen." He had growled, glaring up at the dark sky. "They took me son and me wife. I'm glad to be on the open sea, leavin' that terrible curse behind in Ferelden. Got nothin' left there but memories spoiled by the Taint."

"What's the Blight, exactly?" I had asked, leaning against a barrel of tar, trying to ignore that bit about his family.

He gave me an incredulous look, "The Blight is the Maker's curse upon mankind. Darkspawn- these terrible creatures made of sin and flesh- rise up from their tunnels and desecrate everything in sight, spreading the Taint which ruins all it touches. I've seen it corrupt the most devout Andrastian and the most innocent babe." His eyes fogged over then, "Most don't believe this is a right true Blight, though. But the sky never lies."

I didn't bother asking about what the heck "Andrastian" was- I just figured it was just one more thing that I would have to figure out if I ever wanted to fit in to this land. But the story about the Blight and Darkspawn and especially the _Taint_... left my skin crawling. Jeez, this place seems like one huge death trap with its psycho mages and disease-ridden creatures. Or Tom's just some superstitious old windbag.

_I don't think I can survive in a place like this._

The ship lurches as a wave crashes against its side. I've tucked myself into a nook between the side of the ship and some sturdy crates, shivering and murmuring a steady stream of obscenities every time the ship nearly capsizes. If my grandmother were here, she would have beaten me senseless with a broom for saying a quarter of the things I've said by now.

The crew is scattered on deck, pulling ropes and shouting responses to Isabela's orders and it's all just one big mess that makes no sense to me. All I know is that some ship is following us, if what the man in the crow's nest started screaming a while ago is true. There's a horrible storm and not to mention we're taking on water below deck, which is why I'm up _here_ in the first place.

We lurch to the right and I'm soaked with salty water. Sputtering, I wipe my eyes and try to stay on my feet. My legs are shaking like mad with the effort to stay upright and the water has me slipping and sliding until I'm clutching the ship's railing. Breath catches in my throat as my body teeters between falling back on deck and plummeting into the sea.

Dark green water churns, frothing white like a rabid animal as it reaches its hands up to grab and steal The Siren's men. I can only watch, horrified, as they are all swallowed up. There's nothing I can do. Even if I could swim and tried to help, I'd most likely end up sucked below the surface, never to see the sky again just like them.

Behind me, Isabela's forceful orders are abruptly cut off and before I can turn around, my world comes to a jarring halt. Wood splinters, cracks, explodes from the force with which the ship slams into jagged rocks. Cries and screams of terror echo in my ears, growing fainter and fainter until I realize that I've been tossed from the ship and I'm sinking into the sea.

Cold encases me, squeezing at my lungs and eyes. Finally overcoming the initial shock of the crash, my brain freezes in terror. I'm underwater. I can't swim. I'm going to _die_. Around me are bits and pieces of the once grand ship and its crew but I can't even grab on to anything. A large mass obscures my vision and I make to grab it but halt as my fingers brush over something coarse.

_Red…_

His brown eyes are wide open, mouth agape as blood streams from it listlessly.

_Ignore it!_

That sight seems to stir something within me, because I start thrashing about in an attempt to resurface. I'm still sinking and I think all my kicking is digging my hole a bit deeper as I spend all my energy on moving my legs. This can't be happening. It was just a drizzle! Some lightning here and there but nothing to panic about! But then everything went to hell in a hand-basket when the wind kicked up.

Blood pounds in my ears, in my eyes, and I think my lungs might pop. Reaching my hands up, I pray that someone will save me because I can't save myself. Not now. Not here. Why can't I ever save myself? Why not just this once? An overwhelming feeling of hopelessness descends upon me, sucking away my willpower.

I'm about to embrace death as little pops of darkness spread across my vision. Maybe this is a good thing? I _am_ supposed to be dead, anyway. My current existence isn't natural. If I survive, I'll just have to deal with Carrow later and I don't want that. This is for the best. Right? Eternal peace or something like that? But after killing that man so brutally, I don't think peace is what awaits me in the afterlife.

If I could cry underwater, I would. Fear petrifies me. Fear of death, fear of the unknown.

Seeking some form of comfort, I close my eyes so I don't have to see the fathomless blue around me anymore. My heart beats so fast that I'm sure I'll die of cardiac arrest before the water even chokes the life from me. Parting my lips, I take in water. Salt burns my throat and my lungs, filling them to bursting. Needles dig into my arm, drag down until they pinch into my hand and then I'm no longer sucking in water.

_Air!_

I choke and throw up salty fluid, heaving against a gritty surface that bites into my exposed skin. A warm hand rubs circles on my back, lightly patting it until I'm done. The hand pulls away and I immediately miss its warmth. Below me I can see tiny grains of sand illuminated teal in the moonlight with dashes of dark liquid. My arm stings and I spot red lines snaking down from my elbow, ending in little crescents on my palm.

Fire burns in my nose and throat but I try to ignore it. I turn my head towards the sound of crashing waves and gulp. Far in the distance lies the remains of The Siren's Call and another ship. Sharp rocks spear through its wooden body and I don't even want to know how many men died on those damn things. And I could've easily been one of them.

"All right, sweet thing?" From in between locks of sopping wet hair I see Isabela looking like a drowned rat. The dark makeup she had rimmed her eyes with is bleeding down her cheeks, her clothes are rumpled and sticking to her skin, and she's shivering intensely. I notice her tired eyes are still locked on me and I nod my head slowly.

"I'm fine." Pushing myself onto my heels, I glance between her and the wreckage, "How... How are _you_? Who was following us?"

_Carrow? Was he on that ship?_

Those intense brown eyes rove over my face and body, as if checking me for wounds, before closing. Her lips purse, her throat jerks in a hard swallow, and she reopens her eyes. They're red. I look away, suddenly distracted by the state of my clothing as I wring the water out of the hem of my shirt. A scuffing noise alerts me to the fact that she's now standing, a hand outstretched for me to grab. "I'm good. Well, as good as a now ship-less and crew-less captain can be, given the state of things." She smiles tightly as she hoists me up, "But I'm afraid I won't be getting you to Antiva any time soon. Sorry, love."

I shake my head fervently, "As if that promise means anything now! We're okay and _that's_ what matters. We-" My voice catches in my throat and my brow furrows.

_We_. As in me and Isabela? _Just_ us? Shockingly my stomach knots up and I feel horribly sick, but I blame it on all the saltwater. What happened to Kiriyama? I know we've had our ups and downs but he's my... my tie back to home. He may have killed me but he's all that I have left! He's the only other person who knows where I came from and what happened to me! And he died before I could be a decent person and fess up about Carrow. Not getting closure gets under my skin.

_Did he really die in the crash?_

"Mina?" Isabela frowns at me, waving a hand back and forth in front of my face.

"Sorry." I choke out, irritated that my eyes are welling up.

She actually has the gall to look amused, "Missing something?"

"What kind of question is that? Everyone is dead!"

"Not everyone."

I want to shake her for looking so self-satisfied, for looking like she wants to burst out laughing in my face. Is human life really so meaningless to her? I know she's a pirate or a renegade or whatever, but for the love of all that is good and right in the world can't she show a bit of respect? Something in my head snaps. And that's never a good thing. "How can you be so indifferent to all of this? We've lost _everything_!" I screech.

"Stop being so dramatic." A low voice sighs from behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. Whirling around, I see Kiriyama sitting on the coast. He's gazing off at the retreating storm clouds, dark hair splaying on his shoulders like ink. Goose flesh spreads across his skin and he sighs, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. Really... He _finally_ talks to me after I just made a huge ass out of myself in front of Isabela? Why didn't he make his presence known immediately? Any relief I may or may not feel is smothered by frustration.

"Are you all right?" I ask, walking shakily over toward him, resisting the urge to break into a mad dash and kick the back of his head.

He takes a breath and holds it in a moment before exhaling, "I'm fine. You're the one who nearly drowned."

Ice tears through my veins, "Yeah. Right…"

He eyes me a bit, and then struggles to stand. I don't hesitate to offer him a hand which he takes, but he doesn't let go immediately. A blush heats my face until I realize that he's staring at the lines on my arm. So he's the one who gave me these? Well, that makes sense considering I was drowning one moment and then sputtering on dry land the next. I almost smile at him. Almost. "What happened?" I ask hastily, wrenching my hand free and looking around.

We're on a beach. I think. There's sand and rocks but it also looks like we're at the base of a mountain or a really large hill. Gosh, I suck at surviving in the "great outdoors." The last time I went camping, a raccoon fell on my tent. But that's not important right now. Just as I'm about to ask where we are, Kiriyama takes the words right out of my mouth. "Where are we, Isabela?"

The crunching of her boots against the sand and stone nears us until she's right next to me. She shoots me a half-hearted grin before fixing her gaze on the tall man. "We're in the Free Marches. If I remember correctly, we should be about two days away from Kirkwall if the storm didn't throw us off course too badly."

"Kirkwall?" I frown, thinking back to Carrow's map.

Warm eyes wink down at me, "Yes, it's quite a large city. We should be able to sneak right in."

Kiriyama holds up a hand, "Hold on. Who said we would continue to travel with you?"

_Ooh, yes. Just give me a reason to argue with you._

I roll my eyes, "C'mon! She just lost everything! Of course we're sticking together!"

He turns his glare from the pirate to me, "We made a deal and she didn't follow through. Instead, she got us caught up in the crossfire of her own personal affairs." Kiri jerks his head in the direction of the wreckage and I gape at how callous he is, "We're going to Antiva on our own."

_We? Our?_

I'm surprised that the outspoken woman doesn't object to his harsh words. Instead, she just stands there, hands behind her back, staring off into the distance with a glazed look in her eye. My lips thin into a hard line as I fix Kiriyama with my best no-nonsense frown. I want to stomp my foot like a petulant child and say "No! I'm not going with you!" after he gave me the cold shoulder for so long, but I don't need to air out my dirty laundry in front of Isabela. She doesn't need to know that we had an argument. That's _our_ business.

"So what if that ship chased us into a cove? She couldn't control the weather or the location of some random rocks! Besides, we don't know the land like she does. And I think being a pirate for who knows how long means that she can pull her own and will be able to help us if we come across trouble." I cross my arms and look him dead in the eye, "Think about it."

Kiriyama looks extremely tired and I'm more than just a bit worn out. I don't think it's a good idea for us to keep arguing until we reach our breaking point. But if he wants to keep going at it, I'll be happy to oblige. I have more than just a few colorful words that I want to throw at him for avoiding me like an immature punk. "Fine." He spits.

I blink, " _Fine_?"

"We'll take her with us." Kiri turns toward the zoned out pirate who snaps to attention once he says her name, "You'll take us to Kirkwall and we'll decide what happens afterward. If you don't meddle in our affairs, we won't question you about that ship that was following us. Deal?"

Isabela huffs and pouts her bottom lip out but it doesn't even faze the man so she turns her big eyes to me. I resolutely ignore her, raking my fingers through my damp hair. Honestly, I really want to know why that ship was following us. Following _her_ , specifically. But I guess I can be content with knowing that whoever was on it wasn't after me and Kiriyama. "Oh, all right!" Isabela sighs, "I'll take you two to Kirkwall. But just so you know, that was my plan all along!"

"Right." Kiri deadpans, "Point the way."

She points one slim finger in the direction of a worn path and Kiriyama sets off. I'm about to follow when an iron grip keeps me rooted to the spot. Narrowed eyes glint down at me like molten chocolate. I smile sweetly, "Yes, Captain?"

"You can drop the formalities. Maker knows your little friend doesn't even call me by my rightful title. But now there's really no use for it." Is shrugs, tone joking though her eyes are hard, "Speaking of your friend, _Kiriyama_... That's quite an interesting trick he can do."

A ball of ice replaces my stomach. "Trick?"

She nods, "Mmhm. We both swam to shore after the crash but when he noticed you weren't with us, _poof!_ he disappears and not a second later he reappears with you hanging off his shoulder." Her eyes practically burn me before she turns on her heel and saunters down the path, "Handy little trick, that."

I purse my lips. The old Mina would demand that she turn her scantily clad butt around and swear not to breathe a word of Kiriyama's... power... Not to anyone, not even a rat. But I keep my mouth shut. She did just promise not to go poking around in my and Kiriyama's business. But somehow I doubt she'll hold her end of the bargain. "Yeah." I murmur, "Real handy."

Hugging myself against the chill, I follow after the two on numb legs. I don't know if this is a bad thing, Isabela knowing about what he can do. I don't know the woman's motives- if she has some hidden agenda or if she's truly trustworthy. But I _do_ know that if she tries anything funny I won't hesitate to do... something. For Kiriyama's sake. I mean, he saved me. Twice.

_How annoying..._


	10. Come on Home

**10\. Come on Home**

Gradually, the sandy scenery turns to gray stone and brown dirt. The sky is a brilliant blue but the air grows thicker, heavier with the musk of too many bodies trying to fit in one space. Blood and disease permeate the air, making my skin crawl and my stomach churn. On occasion we see a man or a woman or a child- unconscious or dead- on the side of the worn path. When I stop to ask if they're okay, Isabela grabs me by the elbow and tugs me away.

"Suppose I should have seen this coming." She sighs, "There isn't enough room in Kirkwall for all the refugees. At least, that's what the Viscount will tell the Guard to say."

"Refugees?" I ask, giving a coughing man a wide berth.

We pass by people who look like skeletons wrapped in dirty skin, all huddled together with wide, worried eyes. "Refugees. All Fereldan." Isabela says with a grim frown, "They're fleeing the Blight."

"And they aren't allowed in the city because...?"

She throws me an exasperated look like a parent who is tired of explaining how the world works to a child. A frown tugs at my lips and I glare down the path at the growing crowd of refugees. "Because Kirkwall isn't the most welcoming place and no respectable Viscount wants his city overrun with filthy refugees. Especially not any uncultured Fereldans." A pug-faced man spits out.

I jump at his proximity. The man is surprisingly rotund compared to the others we've seen and he has a coarse thatch of white-blond hair on his pink head. Dark green robes stretch across his belly with intricate golden thread-work and he has on fancy leather boots that are speckled with dirt. Overall, the man looks far too wealthy and well-fed to be out mingling with the "commoners."

Isabela quirks a brow at the man's appearance before turning to me and Kiriyama, "Stay right here and I'll be back before you know it."

"What? Why?" I sputter, anxious.

"I'm not going to ditch you." She laughs, eyes glittering with mirth, "I just need to snag some things. Be back in a flash!" Then she's off, sticking to the late evening shadows, snaking between men and women. I'm in awe. Not a single person notices the flamboyant woman when usually all eyes are on her- just how she likes it. Cautiously, I shoot the portly man a curious look. Beady dark eyes that glimmer like beetle shells stare at me, flicking down from my hair to rest on the scar on my face.

"Did you come up from Ferelden?" He asks. I nod mutely and he continues, "You don't sound Fereldan and don't look like any woman I've ever seen in those lands." He strokes a hand over his thin mouth as his eyes dance between me and an equally mute Kiriyama, "Are you... one of the Chasind folk?"

"No." Kiriyama responds flatly before turning away and walking over toward an isolated spot, away from the crowds. The lithe man leans against a boulder, silent like he's been throughout the entire journey. During the two-and-a-half day trip up from the coast to Kirkwall, he hasn't said more than one word at a time. To Isabela, at least. With me, he just makes noncommittal grunts that I can only tell are positive or negative by the inflection of his voice or the lack of a scowl on his face.

Isabela and I, however, have built upon our unconventional friendship during that short time and I can sum up our relationship accurately with one sentence: You stroke my ego and I'll stroke yours. Needless to say, our endless back-and-forth about each other's most striking features has only served to push Kiriyama into his shell even more. The loser.

I turn my attention back to the older man, ignoring a gawking child who tugs on his mother's skirts and points at me. Yup. I sure don't look like any woman _anyone_ has seen. But my gosh! People have been gawking and pointing all the time since we got near the city! Well, kids mostly. The adults seem a bit too preoccupied with surviving to spare me a second glance. Self-consciously I tug on my shoulder-length hair, letting my fingers linger in the pale green curls.

"It's a pretty color." The strange man says hastily, as if worried I took offense. "It reminds me of moss in a lush forest."

_Ooh. The man fancies himself a poet, eh?_

I smirk, "Thank you."

"I apologize if I offended you. Just a bit frustrated with the Guard." He sighs and glances back at the two armed men guarding the entrance to the city, "I have a house in the city. Maker's breath, I'm a _resident_ of Kirkwall! A month ago I left to take care of some business in Denerim and now I come back, weary from the long journey, only to be denied access!"

_Oh, jeez. Do I have a sign on me that says, "Please tell me all about your hardships?"_

As he speaks he becomes more and more flustered, his naturally pink skin turning an alarming shade of red. Rubbing the back of my neck, I shift from foot to foot anxiously as his posh voice rises. Damn, this man is so irate I wouldn't be surprised if he has a heart attack! And I thought _I_ had some anger issues?

"Please, take a deep breath. Just relax! I'm sure this will all be resolved soon." I insist, spreading my hands out in a placating manner.

He sighs, "Right, right. You're quite right. I apologize for that outburst, it's just that I'm quite a busy man and I can't afford to stand here twiddling my thumbs when I have a business to run!"

"What kind of business?" I ask, trying to get him to shut up about being locked out.

He perks right up at the prospect of being able to gloat freely. "I am an _artist_! I paint landscapes and portraits for those who can afford it." He states proudly, puffing out his chest, "Why, I went to Denerim to personally deliver a painting to Teyrn Loghain himself!"

_Teyrn Who?_

"Amazing!" I gasp, fluttering my hands about like I give a damn, "You must be very talented!"

"Oh, now. I wouldn't say I'm _very_ talented." He simpers, "But Viscount Dumar had me paint his likeness and he keeps the portrait in his office."

I tut, "I wish I could paint! I can't even sketch."

The man looks pleased with himself as he adjusts his robes across his chest. He beams like he just won some prestigious award. "Now, now. I'm sure you're good at _something_. Painting isn't for everyone, you know? Only a select few can truly move others with art."

_What a pompous bastard._

A tight smile crosses my face, "Well, I can only sing and play the... lute."

His nearly non-existent eyebrows shoot up, "A performer? How quaint!"

"Quite."

The conversation seems to lose its momentum and we fall into silence. He simply stares, hands clasped on his belly with an oblivious smile on his face as a woman drops dead behind him. Really, he's starting to creep me the hell out. First he was about to blow a gasket and now he's all sunshine and butterflies, looking at me with oddly appraising eyes. Ugh... I'm starting to get a bad feeling.

"You know, I was thinking about taking on an apprentice, but I hardly ever leave my home unless I'm going out to get inspiration or pick up supplies, so it has been rather difficult to find one." He tilts his head toward me slightly, "Lately my favorite spots have become quite dangerous what with all the criminals scurrying about the city, and you look like a young woman who knows her way around the battlefield…"

_He's talking about my scar, huh? Nice._

I have no desire whatsoever to be this man's apprentice. Seriously, I'd sooner go crawling back to Carrow than protect this guy from a bunch of criminals. His jowls wobble with every breath he takes and he's constantly touching his belly like a pregnant woman. Occasionally he waves a hand about extravagantly and I catch sight of several golden rings on both his hands. Who is he, the Godfather? The desire to kick him only escalates when he fixes me with an expectant look, like I owe him something.

"Do we have a deal?"

_Huh? What? Oh, shit! He was talking the whole time?_

"I'm terribly sorry. Could you please repeat that?" I ask sweetly.

He chuckles to himself, "I said that in exchange for room and board in my home, I would like for you to serve as my apprentice and fetch me things when I need them and guard me from harm when I feel the desire to step outside. Do we have a deal?"

"Of course you do!"

I jump with a girlish scream and slap a hand across my mouth. Next to me stands Isabela with a shit-eating grin, her hip jutted out and what looks like an extravagant curtain slung over her arm. She drops a bag at my feet and laughs. The fat man gives her a displeased look as he pats his chest, obviously startled as well. Hell, if I thought she nearly gave me a heart attack he must be having a stroke right now! "Seriously?" I bark, a blush searing my cheeks. The blush only gets worse when I hear Kiriyama's throaty chuckle and I'm tempted to pick up a rock and throw it at his head. Before I can act on my rage, the thick curtain is shoved into my face and my nostrils fill with the scent of incense and something musty. I blink, "Aw, you shouldn't have?"

"Hm, just think of this scarf as a gift for being such lovely drinking company."

"Er, thanks and all, but why do I need this, Cap?"

Her lips twitch and her eyes twinkle like they always do when I use that nickname. It's why I do it. She's leaning against me and whispering softly into my ear, fingers gliding over the eggplant-colored cloth in my hands with its silver lining. How ironic. I fail to see the silver lining given my current position as the walking dead with my killer looming over me like a dark cloud that won't go away.

"You're on the run and you need to be a bit more covert. You're not going to be able to do that with a head full of bright green hair and clothes that make you look like you've fought a bear. You sort of smell like it, too." She sniffs, "Or is that me?"

_Ew…_

I flick her nose, "Okay, I understand that. But who said I'm going to be his apprentice?"

The pirate gets even closer to me, a firm hand grips my shoulder as she looks me dead in the eye, "I can get us into the city, but finding a place to stay will be difficult considering the influx of new arrivals. This is the perfect opportunity." She murmurs, breath hot on my ear.

I bite my lip, "What about you and Kiriyama?"

"Just leave it all to me." She winks and turns towards the man, "My name is Isabela and this is my niece, Wilhelmina. Who are you?"

_How does she know my name? Oh... right. Drunken ramblings._

"Bartlett Sauveterre." He bows regally but has a bit of trouble bending at the waist.

Isabela's lips twitch but she keeps a straight face. Turning slightly, she beckons Kiriyama forward. I'm a bit irritated that he comes forward so willingly, his eyebrows rise slightly as he practically glides over towards us with silent steps. With a casual wave, Isabela gestures between Kiri and Bartlett, "This is Steven, my niece's caretaker."

_Caretaker? Ha!_

"A pleasure." Bartlett stutters, glancing up at Kiriyama nervously. The cold man simply ducks his head in greeting.

"Now, let's get down to business, Sauveterre. Wherever my niece goes, Steven goes. My dear sister didn't leave the girl in my care with her last dying breath only for me to let little Mina go off with some strange man who promises to teach her to paint if she _lives_ with him." She places her hands on her hips, "So here's what we're going to do: I'm going to allow Mina to be your apprentice and fetch things for you _only if_ Steven gets to go along. Now, Steven will be able to keep all the bad men away from you so he won't be living off of you for free. Understand?"

Bartlett looks between me and Kiriyama incredulously before crossing his arms, "Has he taken care of her for long?"

Isabela nods, "Yes, he's a very skilled fighter."

"Right. Well pardon me if I don't believe you, serah. I just don't want to end up with a scar on my face or worse if _she's_ an example of how well this Steven fellow will protect me."

_How charming._

Determination at an all-time high, I look directly into the fat man's beady eyes, "I got this scar when I wasn't with Steven." I say, running on auto-pilot, "I thought I could take care of myself and I was proven wrong. He saved me but not before I was badly injured." I'm surprised I was able to get through all that without slowly reaching forward and wrapping my fingers around his thick throat for that distasteful comment on my scar. A gentle smile ticks up the corners of my mouth as I drawl, "So, you'll be a good man and house both me _and_ Steven. Understand, Bartlett?"

The painter rubs his chubby fingers over his bottom lip but his eyes are strangely devoid of any emotion. He looks... hollow. Something ripples across his face, something that I'm not too sure I understand. Beside me I hear Isabela shift and whisper something under her breath that sounds a lot like "Andraste's flaming tits!" and I almost snort. Finally, the painter responds. "I understand and I'm terribly sorry. I can see that you two are very close." Bartlett smiles, "Of course Steven is welcome to live with me if he ensures my safety."

"Perfect!" Isabela chirps.

"And what about you... Aunt Isabela?" I ask, shooting her a glance. She shrugs as if she doesn't have a care in the world and my stomach sinks. She's going to just leave us with this guy? I'm going to be stuck with this strange painter who doesn't leave his house unless it's to stroke his own ego by delivering paintings to nobility? Oh, not to mention I'll have the talkative Steven Kiriyama for company as well. She's really going to leave after everything we've been through?

I turn to beg Isabela to come with us when the "scarf" is yanked from my hands and wrapped around me. Almost choking on the surprisingly thin fabric, I make to claw it off but Isabela bats my hands away. Around and around the fabric goes, covering my head and draping down over my back and chest like a cowl. I try to make note of how she did it, but her hands moved so quickly that it all looked like a blur of dark flesh and purple fabric.

"Now to get into the city!" Is announces after twirling me around and giving me a once over.

"But the guards aren't allowing _anyone_ in!" Bartlett whines, hoisting up a large bag I didn't even notice he had.

Isabela simply waves his words away like a pesky fly, "Right, well I have a way to get in so keep _quiet_ and follow me."

I comply, not wanting to fight her on this. It does make sense, I have to admit. Using Bartlett for his home, I mean. I'm still against her leaving us, but I'll argue with her once we're safely inside the city. Glancing around, I follow the woman as she slips around the crowd and into an alley. Behind me I hear Bartlett's heavy footsteps but I know Kiri is there as well, despite the lack of a second pair of footfalls.

A glimpse of dark hair ducks around the corner at the end of the alley and I pick up speed. Damn, she's fast! I'm practically in a full sprint when I skid around the corner and crash into Isabela's back. A breathy chuckle reaches my ears before I find myself being hoisted up by my hips to a busted out window. Not needing to be told the obvious, I grab onto the windowsill and pull myself in.

Seconds later, Bartlett is being shoved through the window and I can only guess that it's taking both Isabela and Kiriyama to squeeze him through the small rectangular opening. He reaches for me, red in the face, and I grab his hands and pull. No kidding, I nearly throw my back out. I let out a soft stream of obscenities once he's inside and trying to pick himself up off the dusty floor.

Two bags are tossed through the window before two elegant creatures pull themselves inside with zero effort. I'm tempted to push them back out of the window when they both throw me amused looks as I rub my aching lower back. The rest of my life will probably be lived hunched over. As if I'm not short enough as it is? "Want me to help you with that, sweet thing?" Isabela croons, taking a seductive step forward. Bartlett chokes on his own spit.

_Aw, hell! Now he's going to think this is an incestuous family._

I glare at the pirate, "No thanks, _Aunt_ Is."

She frowns, tossing an irritated look at the fat man as if his presence is the _only_ thing getting in the way between me, herself, and incredible passion. I'm sure she's really regretting her cover story right now. That thought alone almost sends me into a fit of giggles. Sexually frustrated Isabela is a funny sight to see. It's almost as funny as Creeped-out-Kiriyama rejecting Sexually-frustrated-Isabela.

"Where to now?" Kiriyama asks, interrupting my inner musings.

Our sneaky guide beckons for us to follow as we work our way through the dilapidated building and down into what I at first think is the cellar. But whose cellar leads to the sewer system? Is this the home of some psycho killer who dumps bodies in the sewer for the rats to munch on? Because I think I've had my fill of maniacal killers, thank you very much.

The putrid stench of urine and feces is so thick you could choke on it- in fact, I do at one point. Bartlett complains the whole time we travel through the smelly place since his robes drag through the murky water and everything else that you find in a sewer. Rats and bugs and poop. Lots of poop. I don't want to be Bartlett's robe right now. Hell, I don't think I'm even keeping these boots after this. Finally, we travel up some steps to a hatch and I almost cry out, "Hallelujah!"

The sun is still out, illuminating the rundown buildings that surround us. Everything looks to be covered in a fine layer of filth from the poorly cobbled pathways to the vacant looking buildings made of stone. People wander the streets but none of them give us a second glance, as if it's completely normal for a group of people to pop out of the sewers. Beggars sit at every other corner with prostitutes taking up the rest like some depraved quilt pattern.

"Well, would you look at that? The sewer brought us straight to Lowtown!" Bartlett titters, looking out of place with his gaudy baubles and fancy, shit stained robes.

"I'm sure you know your way home from here?" Isabela asks, watching Bartlett carefully. He nods and she turns toward me and Kiriyama, "I'll be leaving now-" She holds up a hand when I open my mouth, "But don't worry, I'll be in touch as soon as I find a place to stay."

"I don't want to break up a family." Bartlett says uncomfortably, "You can come and live in my home, Serah Isabela. I'm sure you would like to be able to keep an eye on your niece."

_Yes!_

"Afraid not."

"What?" I gape.

She doesn't even look at me as she shoves the bag in Kiriyama's arms and steps away. The two share a look and he nods. Irritation pricks at my brain. Since when were they so close that they could relay messages to one another with just a look and a nod? The pirate turns away and I watch her back, eyes scanning her wavy hair and tight white outfit. Surely she can feel the way my eyes burn into her, but she doesn't turn around. Instead, she waves over her shoulder. It's like her gloved hand moves in slow motion. "Like I said, I'll be in touch once I find a place to stay." Then she's gone.

Something hurts in my chest as I watch her go. I can't help but feel like this is the last time I'll ever see her. Stupid thought, honestly. Of course I'll see her again. She gave me her word. Gave _us_ her word. And I'm sure Kiri won't let her go back on it. I follow numbly as Bartlett excitedly tells us to come along. I barely listen as he starts rambling on and on about nothing. "Mind you, the life of an artist is one full of sacrifice! Though I make good coin for my work, I often have to spend it all on supplies and I only buy the best!"

_Which is code for:_ _M_ _y house is a piece of shit._

And I'm right. Well, sort of. The taupe colored, craggy, two-story building is a heck of a lot nicer than my apartment back in Montrose (by a whopping 1.5%), but it still looks like it might collapse in on itself if you sneeze in its general direction. It's squeezed in-between two other buildings and has two grimy windows on both floors. The buildings on either side of it are exact replicas and I'm reminded of an old duplex that I used to live in with my grandparents.

Great. I traded one delusional blond in for another one. The only difference is that this one believes that he lives in a state of grandeur when he's actually slumming it in possibly the dirtiest part of the city. The contrast between his get-up and where he lives is staggering. From the looks of him, I can only guess that he spends most of his money on food, booze, and fancy little things he can barely afford. God, he reminds me of my mom with her shitty spending habits. Bartlett stumbles forward and produces a key from his robes before he opens the door and beams, "Welcome home!"

_Right. Home._

* * *

She told me to wait. So I did. Days turned into weeks and in that time I discovered that my assumptions about Bartlett were almost spot on. The man wasn't lying when he said he was a great painter; the inside of his musty home is decorated with beautiful murals depicting his favorite spots in Kirkwall and a place called Sundermount. But other than the nice pictures, there's nothing else in his home. My first thought when we entered his house was, "Where's all the furniture?"

I found out soon enough the next day. I was awoken by an insistent banging on the front door, Kiriyama was already up and staring at it with a wary expression. We were sleeping on the dusty ground of the first floor since Bartlett lives on the second floor. He said it's so he has a chance to escape if someone were to break into his house. Needless to say I slept quite well after he said that. But anyway, back to the person banging on the door.

As it turned out, it was an irate man looking for Bartlett to make good on some debts. He was turned away, empty-handed and furious, since Bartlett didn't have any more things to hand off in lieu of money. I knew immediately that if I was going to have a chance to live peacefully without the threat of Carrow finding me, I would have to find a way to pay off Bartlett's gambling debts. Kiriyama, on the other hand, had a different plan.

"I'm going to find us a different place to live." Kiriyama had said gravely after scaring off another debt-collector.

"We're fine here. I mean, yeah the place could use a bit of sprucing up but at least we have a roof over our heads."

"Yes, a roof that will most likely end up swiped away by another person this useless blob owes money to."

I rolled my eyes, "What are we supposed to do, just wander around looking for a home? We don't even have any money!" That was a little lie. The bag Isabela had given to Kiriyama contained two blades, clothing, some chainmail, and a bit of coin. But five golden coins, twenty copper pieces, and thirteen silver didn't last us all that long. It bought us food for a little over a week but it didn't keep well. The food, I mean. Adjusting to life during this time period was, or is, a nightmare. I don't get to bathe as often as I'd like and there's no electricity, which means I freeze my ass off when it's cold out (despite having a fireplace) and I sweat like a pig when it's hot.

And here's the real kicker; foreigners are practically considered subprotozoa, so finding a job was near impossible. _Any_ outsider or anyone who looks or seems even a little bit different (here's lookin' at you, elves) is treated like the scum of the world in this damnable place; refusing to give able-bodied people jobs because of their nationality or the shape of their ears. And I wasn't content to just sit around on the streets, begging for money.

Isabela remedied that when she suddenly showed up on our doorstep one evening. I was still irritated that she had left, but apparently she had her own business to take care of as well. At first, Kiriyama was reluctant to take her job offers and so was I. The work wasn't exactly what one would call legal. But she paid good money for us to help her contacts smuggle things in and out of the city. Poisons, some blue thing called lyrium, and all kinds of weapons; you name it, we handled it. Hell, we even helped the occasional runaway slave.

Over time we saw less and less of Bartlett as he locked himself up on the second floor, immersing himself in his work with the mindset that if he made enough paintings he could sell them and live freely. He never taught me a thing about painting and it was a rare occurrence for him to request an escort out into the city. It wasn't the common criminal he was afraid of, but the occasional hitman that his scorned gambling buddies set on him. More often than not, I was the one watching his back since Kiriyama started the habit of disappearing at random for varying amounts of time, checking out prospective homes in far off lands. That's when the dreams started.

One thing that disturbed me the most about the dreams was that Carrow was in _all_ of them. The first few times I screamed and ordered him out but he just sat there on his conjured seat with its velvet cushion and high back. He'd lace his fingers together on his lap and watch as my dream progressed. They were always memories, and after the first couple of times that I tried to force him out only for him to remain impassive, I stopped. Every time I would acknowledge his presence, the memory would end. And I didn't want that. He wouldn't make a sound and no one in my dreams ever noticed him. So, I didn't see any harm in it.

He watched as I held my baby brother for the first time, when I got into my first fight in elementary school and busted some kid's nose, my first horribly awkward kiss, when I screamed at my mother after realizing that my brother was only my _half-brother_ , the day I received my college acceptance letter, the time I fell off the stage during a play, and the night of my death. He saw everything. And I let him see. I didn't think of consequences, I just wanted to relive bits of my old life. It was my only escape from this foreign place. It was the last piece of normality that I could find.

Steadily, I began to see Bartlett more than Kiriyama until one day Kiri just stopped showing up. And so did Carrow. I waited for two weeks, longer than he'd ever disappeared for. I refused jobs, turned down Bartlett's requests to fetch new brushes, and rejected Isabela's concerned offers to take me to some place called The Blooming Rose. I just sat there at the sturdy table we had purchased together and waited for him to show up so I could spurn him. In my mind I prepared a long speech that was sure to cripple him with guilt. I was eager to put my rusty acting skills to the test. I never got the chance.

So, I started working even more, frustrating Isabela with the sometimes reckless ways that I conducted business until she got me a sword to replace the flimsy daggers I had bought for cheap from one of her smuggler allies. She said it was to put more distance between me and the enemies since I'm not as fast as she'd like. It's a fine blade, and having something so pretty to call my own actually improved my mood drastically. Call me superficial or petty, but it's good to have nice things.

Now it's been a year since Kiriyama has been gone and I'm tired of being hired muscle no matter how good the pay. Imagine that, _me_ as hired muscle! In high school my friends voted me "Most Likely to Be Mistaken for a Child" and in my adult life I got carded when I bought Mike an M-rated game. It's almost laughable. But apparently I'm a decent fighter when it comes to protecting others and defending myself. I think it's just that I refuse to allow someone to die on my watch. And I'll be damned if I die _again_ or let someone die _for me_. Especially Isabela. I'll always have her back.

Just when I thought things were finally looking up and Bartlett's debt began to dwindle from triple digits to double, Isabela started pulling little disappearing acts on me as well with nothing but "priceless artifact" on her tongue. She used to crash at my place when her favorite bar was too crowded and she used to accompany me on jobs, but now I hardly catch a glimpse of her. The only times I see her are when she leaves a note on my table about another job or a little satchel containing my cut from a previous gig. Even then she looks troubled and hardly says two words to me.

I feel very much alone. The only things I have to look forward to are the pleasant but often silent walks with Bartlett and the adrenaline rushes I get when I scare away a would-be assassin. The jobs are no longer exciting and fun. They feel like a waste of time, but I need the money. I need the money to pay off Bartlett's debt, to make my living space livable, and to feed not only myself but the lonely man-child who lives on the floor above me. And I'll be damned if _Steven Kiriyama_ returns to find me in a state of distress or if Isabela discovers that I can't live without her.

The night air is heavy with the sweet smell of rain and the cobblestones are slick with moisture. It's a pleasant evening. Inky skies churn with storm clouds waiting to cry more tears. Really, my kind of weather. My heart hammers in my chest. You would think after over a year of dealing in shady business I wouldn't be so nervous about a simple smuggling job. A crate of lyrium worth its weight in gold awaits me at the end of the dock. The shipment is for Templars in the Gallows. It's an odd job, I'll admit.

I'm halfway across the dock when a figure steps out from the shadows. A vulgar curse ghosts over my lips as I pull a dagger from its place on my thigh, keeping it close so as not to catch the light from a nearby torch. The flames flicker, bathing the desolate dock in orange warmth. I press the blade firmly against the back of my thigh. Shadows jump across the dock, making my muscles tense.

_Guess this isn't just a smuggling gig anymore._

It took me a while to become skilled with blades and even longer to wield them with the intent to kill. I found that I held a certain fondness for long, broad blades. No, that's not a double entendre no matter how many times Isabela insists it is. Being what other smugglers labeled as a "warrior" seemed more up my alley since I prefer to be able to protect not only myself but my allies as well. Also because I lack that special something, namely stealth, to make me a rogue. Shame I can't handle two blades at once, though.

On my back I have a long sword made of Dragonbone. _Dragonbone_! Dragons are real here! Not that I've seen one personally, but I hear that they're a nightmare to try to kill. I can't begin to imagine how much this gift set Isabela back. I've been stuck doing double the work to save up enough money to buy something pretty for my favorite pirate since I don't want to give up the beautiful blade. It's too beautiful! And in the end that's all that matters, right? I even named it. Lord Slicington III (his ancestors being the two daggers I previously owned; Lords Slicington I and II). What did you expect from the woman who named her cat Mr. Chubby?

Here in Kirkwall, my refuge, everyone wants something from someone. And usually these things are things that should be kept on the hush-hush. I never thought that the humble blacksmith would have so many skeletons in his closet. Then again, he _is_ a friend of Isabela's. Don't get me wrong, I have my own skeletons as well; enough to make a formidable army of undead warriors. Still, the note on my table left me with raised eyebrows. A blacksmith paying to have lyrium smuggled to Templars? Curious.

But I don't second guess the orders. The man is a good friend of Isabela's and I've already done a lot of work for him; from bringing in some sort of opiates to sending out a bunch of unknown potions. Besides, if it wasn't legit, Isabela wouldn't have set it on my table, right? And this is where I am. Fulfilling the urgent request from the man called Elin and regretting that I'm not as perceptive as rogues because if I had been, I wouldn't have this stranger standing before me in a wide-legged battle stance.

_Oh, damn it all!_

"Ho there, stranger." The person, a man, calls.

I tug my cowl down a bit before replying, "Evening, ser."

"Out on a nightly stroll, I take it?"

"Why, yes. A lady must try to keep an attractive figure." I roll my eyes as I say this, glad that the stranger can't see.

"That so? Come a little closer so I can get a nicer view of this attractive figure." He drawls. Eye rolling intensifies. Must I always be stuck dealing with the scum of the world? As if being brutally murdered and transported to another realm wasn't enough, I constantly have to deal with dirt bags like this guy. On most jobs I have to keep my temper in check lest I brutalize every contact that Isabela has. How does she deal with such pigs on a daily basis?

I smirk and saunter forward, keeping my blade out of sight, "Happy to oblige."

"I'm sure you are."

_Oh, you snarky bastard. I might actually enjoy plunging this dagger into your skull._

Trying to ignore the all too familiar tone of his voice, I slink forward until I'm only five feet away from him; or within slicing distance for my Lord. His dark eyes trail up and down my body appreciatively but it gives me no satisfaction. In fact, it makes me feel a bit nauseous.

Want a killer body? Try the Fighting for Your Life workout and pair it up with the Can't Afford to Eat diet. You'll get results faster than what's healthy but hey, at least you'll be thin! Coming from a society that makes people hate themselves at mealtime, I was surprised by my raging gluttony during my first few months of living on air and water. I wanted to eat everything even if it cut my lifespan in half. Can you say meat pie? The thing is I just can't afford to eat an actual, substantial meal on a regular basis and I'm not nearly sneaky enough to steal.

_Damn rogues make it all look so easy._

"Like what you see?" I grin.

I don't give two shits if he likes my looks, but what I learned over the harsh months is that the age-old beauty trap always works. Just as long as I keep my cowl safely in place. Green hair always draws more looks of confusion than appreciative leers. Initially, I had dreaded the inevitable regrowth of my hair (having a black halo was something I wasn't looking forward to) but as the months dragged on, my hair grew but the artificial color remained. And that's not the only thing that hasn't changed.

Frankly, I haven't had my period since I got here. Not that I'd even _want_ it, what with all the running around and lack of proper hygiene products! It's just that... it disturbs me. The only things that have changed about me is that I've lost some weight and gained some scars. Not a very good trade-off, if you ask me. I'd much rather have my natural dark hair that reminds me of my family than the eye-catching reminder of a lost bet.

The man's eyes linger on the white linen blouse I'm wearing, and I use the term "blouse" loosely. It's more like a glorified long-sleeved shirt with billowy sleeves and laces that tie up the dipping collar. It's my Musketeer blouse. And the fact that I wear absurd black leather breeches and knee-high black boots just solidifies that image. It would be a ridiculous outfit where I come from; suitable only for Halloween parties. But here it drives men and women alike gaga. If I keep the cowl on, of course.

"Why yes, yes I do." He leers, "But let me get a look at your face, love." As he reaches for my cowl, I catch a glimmer of something up the sleeve of his tunic.

_A hidden blade? This little shit!_

Blood on fire, I duck out of reach and lash out with my blade. The jagged edge of the dagger nicks his jaw, drawing a small red pearl onto the grimy surface of his skin. "Bitch!" He hisses.

I bristle at the insult and sneer, "Don't be such a baby, I barely got you!" His dagger slides smoothly into his hand and he lunges at me with shocking finesse. I realize that I'm most likely in over my head as I barely avoid being shanked several times over. A sharp whistle makes my blood run cold and I catch a glimpse of greasy black hair pop up on the roof of a nearby warehouse not twenty feet away. A silver glint makes me wish I had just declined the extremely tempting offer of fifteen sovereigns.

_I knew this was too good to be true!_

An arrow whizzes by my head and I grind out a few expletives. Throwing the dagger with as much force as I can muster I take an arrow to my shoulder and feel a blade rip my shirt and drag across the chainmail underneath. But thankfully, I manage to embed the blade in the archer's chest. I had aimed for his head, but at this point I'll take what I can get. He screams out in pain but his comrade doesn't stray from his vicious frontal assault.

Sharp pain throbs in my shoulder and I bite back a scream as I reach for my sword, all the while hopping like a rabbit on crack out of the way of the skilled thug's blade. With a forceful tug I swing the sword out in front of me and he dodges, much to my chagrin. "I'll flay you and leave you on Elin's doorstep!" He roars.

_No thanks, once is enough for me._

With my Lord at my side, the thrill of battle sets my nerves ablaze and my fingertips tingle. I all but forget the arrow that sticks out of my left shoulder like a cheap party trick as I heft the weight of Slicer and charge my foe. We dance for ages, him dodging and me swinging. At first it's fun, the thought of teasing death, but then it grows irksome as fatigue sets in. My eyelids droop a bit as the bleeding wound drains my energy. I can't keep this up forever.

"Enough playing around! This ends _now_!" I growl. I feint left and he dances to the right, directly in the path of Slicer. I feel slight resistance as the blade meets his body and I force my weight into the blow. My Lord runs through him like marmalade; nice and sweet. Baring my teeth, I watch as the shock and fear in his eyes dulls into oblivion. My breath, heavy and hot, stutters into short gasps as he slides off my blade, taking all my bravado and adrenaline with him.

I'm left a shivering, bleeding mess as I stumble over his crumpled form and toward the crate. My knees give out and I tumble into the wooden crate. It slides effortlessly and I freeze. This thing should weigh a _ton_. It shouldn't move so easily even if I use all my weight into pushing it! A ton of lyrium, that's what Elin had said! Apologizing to Slicer, I use the blade to pry open the lid and am greeted with emptiness.

_Son of a bitch!_

Either someone got to the lyrium ahead of me, or this was all some elaborate plot of Elin's to whack me. And I can't really blame him considering all the dirt I have on him. Rage fuels me to stand upright as I put Slicer back in his rightful place. This time I can't ignore the searing pain that stiffens my shoulder and spreads like wildfire across my chest and back.

I trudge over towards the thug's lifeless corpse and carelessly pat him down for anything of value. Isabela had told me to always loot the bodies. She said the only point of killing was to get people's stuff. The concept disturbed me at first, but I really need the money and I can't afford to be picky. You'd be surprised what you can find on a corpse, actually. Sometimes I would find things that sold for a pretty penny at the markets. The feeling in my left hand is slowly ebbing away and I fumble to grasp the man's purse.

_Two silver coins. Seriously?_

Guess he was getting paid _after_ killing me. I growl and pocket his dagger to sell later. I'm almost insulted when I realize he only had the _one_ dagger on his person, as if certain I would be easy prey. With this thought, I roll his body into the sea with a light heart. I don't even entertain the idea of scaling the warehouse like some sort of superhero and finishing off the archer. I can't climb from windowsill to windowsill or hop from rooftop to rooftop like Isabela can!

A grimace tugs my lips down and I force myself to soldier onwards to Darktown, where I've heard rumors amongst my "fellow smugglers" that a healer resides. And he works pro bono, which is perfect for a nearly penniless vagabond like me.


	11. Kiriyama: 01. Dreamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. Don't get all excited. This isn't anything new, but I just decided to go back to the old way of having Kiriyama's story intertwined with Mina's once his experiences begin to branch away from hers and enter more into the realm of Summoned nonsense. It works better that way so Mina's isn't just standing alone with a boat load of gaps. Anyway, I apologize if this is a nuisance. If any of y'all have alerts for this story turned on, you might wanna turn 'em off because there are approximately 14 chapters for Kiriyama that need to get posted. I know I'm an awful writer, but thanks for your understanding.

**Kiriyama: 01. Dreamer**

I know she sees him in her sleep.

The first night after I scoped out Antiva City, I came back to find Mina whimpering, curled up in a ball in a tangle of sheets. I was irritated at first, seeing as how she was in _my_ blankets, but that feeling quickly disappeared when I felt something in the room with us. I'm not a superstitious man by any means, but I thought it was a ghost at first with how the temperature seemed to drop and drop, plummeting so quickly that I felt ill.

Then she said it. His name.

"Carrow," she groaned, eyebrows furrowing. Her body thrashed as I went to her and then she stilled. The temperature in the room rose and she opened those large brown eyes that often haunt my dreams. With a jolt she scurried out of my blankets, a blush on her face. "Kiri! You're back," she gasped, seeming genuinely surprised that I'd come back, as if it wasn't par for the course at that point.

"Yes, I'm back." She looked at me expectantly but when I didn't say anything else, she frowned and looked away, rubbing her scar with a knuckle. I wanted her to stop touching it. She's always touching it and it makes me feel terrible to think that she got those scars all over her body because she was holding off the demons; keeping them from me. In an attempt to keep her from touching the expanse of jagged, pearly flesh across her face I said, "I was out looking for a place for us to stay. You know we can't stay here for much longer."

Her hand fell away to her side and I almost sighed with relief. "Oh, come _on_. This again? We're fine here." She argued, "We'll just keep scaring away Bartlett's debt collectors until they're all happy and paid and then _everything_ will be okay."

"And after his debt is paid you expect that he won't just get himself into debt all over again?" I asked, crossing my arms.

She glowered then and seemed to think on that for a moment before quipping, "If he does, then I'll give him to the collectors and they can take their pick of his organs." I snorted and tossed my bag to the floor before undressing. "Will you be disappearing often?" She questioned, settling herself into her own blankets.

"No." I halted and then asked offhandedly, "What were you dreaming about?"

"Hm? Oh, it was nothing. Just a nightmare," Mina replied, eyes downcast.

That was a lie. On both our parts. And we both knew it. Though she looks at me with a bit of fondness and worries about me incessantly when we take the pirate's jobs, I know that she'll never see me as a friend and therefore will never confide in me. And I can't say that I really blame her, all things considered. I just wish that she would trust me enough to tell me about things dealing with that blond bastard.

He's a topic that we dance around, each not wanting to pick at that particular scab just yet. There never seems to be a right time to ask how the other is fairing. Torture does that. It has a strange way of making someone as talkative as Mina Solis go mute. It makes her eyes cloud over and I admit, thinking about it robs me of coherent speech as well. It's uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassing. Shameful?

Maybe I wouldn't go that far. But it's not a conversation fit for polite company. And Mina doesn't seem to think it's conversation fit for anyone at all. Can't say I blame her. From where I was standing, Carrow had a particular interest in her and while that may have afforded her extra portions of food as a sign of his favor, it was also double-edged, making the blond take his anger out on her more often as if he was so disappointed that she'd fallen from whatever pedestal he had her on.

So, it wasn't a surprise to me when our conversation ended there; when Mina shut down with a strained smile and we drifted off into silence, with her occasionally asking about where I'd been off to as per usual. And the pattern of not communicating with each other continues today as I shrug off my traveling cloak after a tiring journey to a place called Ghislain. My satchel seems to weigh a ton as I fumble with its strap. The warm, comforting smell of burning wood fills my nose but it doesn't make me feel any better. I've been to so many different villages and cities but I can't find a single place to stay.

Nothing seems far enough from the mage.

"Hey. You're back again."

I'm pulled from my thoughts as Mina smiles at me from our new table. She's sitting on a chair, legs crossed as she sharpens a couple of daggers with a whetstone. The blade comes too close to her fingers several times before I snatch the blade from her and do it myself. The sturdy chair feels wonderful on my aching back as I lean into it and work on the daggers. I can feel her eyes watching me before she shoves away from the table. A flash of green darts by me and the room starts to glow with the warm light of the fireplace.

Mina stokes the flames to life and hums a depressingly familiar pop song as she puts a banged up kettle on. I turn to watch as she tugs my satchel away from me and sets it by my new bed before unwrapping a half-eaten loaf of bread and some dried meat and cheese. She embarrassedly scrapes away a dotting of green mold before handing it to me.

"Sorry, it's all we have." Small hands saw away at the stale bread with a dull knife. "Isabela hasn't dropped off my cut from the last job just yet so the purse strings are a _little_ tight at the moment."

"I'm not complaining," I reply shortly, gratefully eating the bread. It's stale but that's nothing new. Shifting under her gaze, I clear my throat and say, "You don't have to stay up to keep me company. You probably have a job to sleep for."

"Oh, shit," she murmurs under her breath, glancing toward the window, out at the inky night, "you're right. Wow. I don't know how I forgot about that. I'd love to sit up and chat but... you know how it is."

I nod my head. "Yeah."

Not really. I don't know how it is, no. I haven't worked a job for Isabela in a long time and even when I did, it wasn't anything clandestine, taking place under cover of darkness. It wasn't anything that called for odd sleeping patterns, but that's the difference between me and Mina. Funny as it is to say, considering my history, I'm not quite so eager to put myself in jeopardy doing illicit things for faceless people. Not in this place. Not when I'm trying to do right by someone I wronged.

"Well," Mina pats me on the shoulder, "night, then." She turns abruptly and hurries over towards her corner of the room, lies down on her bed and throws her blanket over herself.

I force myself to slowly eat more bread and meat after shaving some cheese onto it. It's the closest thing I've had to a real meal in days. In order not to get sick, I pace myself despite the urge to wolf down all the food in this hovel. After every trip- even just a quick teleport within Kirkwall itself- I feel tired. It's like breaking out in a dead sprint and suddenly stopping but it's even worse the farther the distance. Sometimes, I even pass out after.

Rubbing a hand across my face, I look into the fire. 

Although I've been certainly testing the limits of this strange power of mine, the fact that I don't really _know_ anything about it vexes me. Trial and error is all good and well, but at some point that's not going to be enough. More and more, I find myself teasing the idea of going back to Carrow's estate and finding whatever sort of notes he has on me and Mina. There was a summoning ritual, like he said, so surely he'd have written about it. He seemed enough of an egomaniac to write all about his conquests...

Suddenly, heavy breathing reaches my ears and my skin starts to prickle despite the warmth from the fireplace. Eyes snapping toward Mina, I see her stiffen on the bed. She mumbles something, sounding irritated and maybe frightened. I don't go to wake her. This? It's been happening more and more frequently and I can never, ever wake her from these dreams. The room feels like him; like there's some predator waiting in the shadows.

It's convenient. Not that I think Carrow terrorizing Mina in her dreams is a good thing, but it makes it easier for me to decide to pursue that little tease of a thought. I need to find the mage and put an end to this- whatever _this_ may be- before something bad happens. Obviously he's never going to leave us alone- or, rather, _Mina_. And even if she hates the idea of someone like me looking out for her, I already decided the moment I saw her in this world that I was going to make everything up to her.

She might sneer and say I have a martyr complex, but I don't have the patience to wait for Carrow to be the one to make the first move. I'll end him. I'll end him and I'll scrounge up whatever information he has on how he got us into this mess. Pulling the strap of my satchel firmly across my chest and straightening my traveling cloak, I spare Mina one last glance before I focus on the thrumming in my blood and head off to Amaranthine.


	12. Birds of Prey

**11\. Birds of Prey**

I reach Darktown at the crack of dawn after many breaks and close calls with the city guard (like I could easily explain my injury without divulging information about my illegal dealings?). On several occasions I nearly fainted but shook myself into consciousness after going over the various scenarios that would occur if I passed out in Kirkwall, all of which led to either death or slavery. Kirkwall loves its slavers.

Darktown fully lives up to its name. It looks like a bunch of old mines and dirt that the refugees decided was a good place to make a home out of. And it's _dark_. Can't forget about the dark. Flimsy tents made of soiled fabric cover sleeping families and shady looking vendors are just starting to pull out their wares in preparation for the day as I shuffle on. None of them even glance my way, living by the old rule of "you mind your business and I'll mind mine."

The early morning sun is blotted out by the remnants of last night's storm. Stringy gray clouds turn the sun's rays into a soft blue light that lacks any warmth. Or maybe I just don't feel it. Hell, I've lost so much blood that I wouldn't doubt it. I drag myself up a flight of steps after bribing the location of the clinic out of an urchin with one of my two silver coins. He was a little distracted by the arrow in my shoulder and the blood dripping down my arm and I was _so_ close to just smacking the stuttering fool over the head. Pain makes me irritable.

Reaching a battered wooden door, I bang on it incessantly until someone throws it open and nearly sends me tumbling back down the stairs. A tall, thin man with an angular face and shoulder length blond hair stands in the doorway, staring down at me with honey colored eyes. He's pretty, I'll admit, but I'm in far too much pain to goggle at him. Also, I lost feeling in my hand about halfway here, so I want to get treated as soon as possible. Having my hand amputated is the last thing on my to-do list. Actually, it's _not_ even on there.

"I could use a little, uh, help." I murmur, nodding my head to the arrow protruding from my shoulder.

His eyes travel warily between the wound and my mostly obscured face. He watches the lower half of my face as if it holds the secrets of life and I notice, with a tightening of my heart, the staff strapped to his back. I'm not prejudice against mages, per se, but after everything I've been through with Carrow I'm not exactly _trusting_ of the magic wielding bastards. I try to treat them equally but tend to handle them with kid gloves despite my efforts. The blond man notices my hesitance and glares.

_Fuuuuuuudge._

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I just want a nice, quick de-arrowing and I'll be on my way." I add hastily.

"Who are you?" His pale brow furrows, a strange look on his face as he asks this. My survival instincts tell me to turn and run- just try my luck with a non-magical healer and pray that they don't ask for payment up front. Because this guy? This guy clearly doesn't like whatever it is he sees in me. And I can hardly blame him.

_Ugh._

He's obviously a mage who can sense my "strangeness." An apostate I had met on a lyrium job said that being around me felt like being in the Fade, but more real. A pleasant buzzing on the brain, he said. At the time I didn't know what the hell the Fade was so I completely dismissed him. Hell, I thought it was just some tacky apostate pick-up line. But after encountering several other mages who said roughly the same thing and quite a few suspicious Templars, I realized that he might have been on to something.

"You are no mage. Who _are_ you?" The blond demands again, easily irritated with my dodging, but this time his skin and eyes pulse blue.

"Holy shit!" I squeak, "I'm just here to get this thing out of me before my arm falls off! I'm not here to turn you in to the Templars! Believe me, they'd most likely lock _me_ up with you if I even tried!"

The light show ceases and I'm left with a new pain in my chest. The mage gives me an almost apologetic look as he steps aside, still wary. Hesitantly, I enter the musty room. He closes the door and gently steers me toward an empty cot. I shy away from his touch, on the defensive, as I take in my surroundings. The place is filthy for a clinic. It looks like the rest of Darktown, just with makeshift cots and a few trays of "medical supplies." The stench of blood and illness permeates the air. A few other people are inside, some sick and some probably visiting, but none of them pay me any mind, which is a relief.

"I'm sorry." The blond starts softly as I take a seat, "But one can't be too sure if someone is friend or foe in this city. You just... took me by surprise." He gives me an expectant look, as if waiting for me to divulge my deepest, darkest secrets. But I'm still too pissed about my earlier greeting and the painful thumping of my heart only serves to reinforce my irritation.

"Yes, well, I'm sure if you greet _all_ your visitors like that you won't ever have to worry about letting snakes into your den." I hiss as I tug Slicer off and place him next to me, "But you should be a bit more discreet. Welcome everyone like that and you're bound to have the Templars pay you a visit."

He glowers, "Is that a threat?"

Kinda? It's definitely not a threat that I'd ever follow up on. But I've been known to throw the same hollow threat at known apostates to get my way. Mind, I'm not nearly depraved enough to actually sic Templars on the poor saps- lord knows I know how awful it is to be imprisoned. However, _this_ mage seems to need a bit of a reality check. He thought I was an enemy, yeah, but his reaction was a bit too… reactionary. If I had any of my fellow smugglers with me who happened to be mages themselves I'm sure they would have slapped him silly.

_Unless he gave me the light show because he intended on killing me up until he realized I_ needed _him._

That thought embitters me. "No. Just some friendly advice." I reply lightly. Then the passive aggressive bastard takes the arrow in his hand without warning and I yelp. Tears spring into my eyes as he offers a half-hearted apology and tells me he has to cut the arrow in half before he can remove it. I try to phase out into LaLa Land as he brings over a sharp knife and begins sawing away at the wood. The familiar scent of elfroot and alcohol comes off of him in dizzying waves and I realize the world is suddenly spinning like a top.

Gripping the mage's shoulder, I brace myself against him as the arrowhead falls away somewhere behind me and my ears start to buzz. He murmurs something but I can only hear my heart pounding in my ears. My mouth moves, "Do it." And my arm explodes in white hot heat. It's only a moment but it feels like forever and I think I might die before a blue glow encases my upper body, primarily my left arm. A pleasant numbing sensation overwhelms me and I can't keep a stupid grin off my face. Over the healer's shoulder I see the clinic door open and three people walk in. They have the familiar, confident swagger of mercenaries. My buzz is immediately killed.

_Oh, hot damn. Time to_ _dip_ _!_

The man at the front of the group is obviously the leader; he practically oozes authority and a demand for respect despite his plain, dime-a-dozen leathers. His dark hair is ruffled, falling over thick eyebrows which are arched above two strikingly golden, deep-set eyes. An aquiline nose draws my attention, leading down to a bow-shaped mouth and a scruffy beard. My eyes zero in on the staff on his back which has what looks to be a nude, golden woman on it. I quirk a brow at that and wonder if I can get a naked lady put on Slicer's pommel. I also wonder how much it would fetch if I happened to… Golden eyes raze over me, as if reading my mind, and I look away.

My cowardice has me eyeing up the blond dwarf in the group. Upon feeling my gaze (I swear he does!) he winks at me in greeting, warm brown eyes twinkling mischievously. But I know better than to write him off as a harmless charmer with that crossbow on his back- because who the _hell_ owns a crossbow in this ramshackle city? A rather hairy chest is exposed by an open collar shirt with golden embellishments and I notice that _everything_ about this dwarf is immaculate from his polished boots to his strong, cleanly shaven jaw.

The youngest of the group shares the leader's nose but everything else about him is drastically different. Close set, bright blue eyes glare fiercely at the leader's back, thin black eyebrows scrunching together like the two had argued before they entered the clinic. Pale lips are turned into a frown as two bare, muscular arms cross over a barrel chest. He's shorter than the leader but burlier than the other two, and I can clearly understand why when I spot the insanely large sword strapped to his back. Self-consciously, my fingers glide over my own finely tapered blade.

"Done." The healer sighs, oblivious to the squad that just rolled in. I sort of wish he'd notice them right about now because he launches into a lecture. "You should be a bit more careful. If you had waited any longer, I wouldn't have been able to save much of your arm." The healer concludes, looking vaguely amused by the dopey smile I've yet to wipe off from his healing magic.

I've never been healed by magic before. Well, magic that doesn't _kill_ other people. And I'm half tempted to get injured all over again just to feel it one more time. It's like being horribly sunburned and then submerging yourself into aloe. Or running hot water over freezing hands. Or going to the bathroom after holding it for a really long time. I could go on and on, but I'm sure you get the point. It feels great.

I offer the healer a tight-lipped smile and chirp, "Right. Thanks for the advice but I take care of myself just fine. The bastard who did this was just... _lucky_."

_And I was careless._ _I've just cut my teeth and I'm doing solo jobs like a fool_ _with a death wish_ _._

Suddenly the healer goes rigid and I notice the clinic has cleared out save for the three newcomers. I shift uncomfortably and wrap my hand around my Lord just as the healer whips around, blazing blue. It looks as if his skin is cracked, allowing an ethereal light to shine out from beneath the thin membrane. Magic pulses in the air, crackling against my skin like static electricity but never shocking me, just tickling. My heart leaps at the strange feeling but I'm too startled to move away. "For the love of God, man! Cut that out!" I yell embarrassingly loud at the healer as the young man in the merc group draws his sword.

"This is a place of healing! How dare you desecrate it with violence!" The healer shouts in a strong voice so unlike his earlier one.

What the shit is this guy's damage? I'm beginning to wonder if he legitimately greets everyone like this. And _t_ _his_ is quickly about to turn into an all-out brawl and I'm sure the healer will lose, even with his pretty light show. The dwarf and the leader simply stare the healer down, eyes full of silent warning. It's the young man I'm most worried about- he looks like he's itching to just ram his sword into the healer's gut. And I can't have that. I mean, the guy just saved my arm (plus he might be useful later). I owe him _something_.

I can only stare at the healer's back and click my tongue like a disappointed parent. "Calm _down_. They literally just got here and you automatically think they're up to something? Are you profiling? Is this _really_ how you greet everyone?" I scoff, "It's a wonder you're still in business! I'm writing a sternly worded letter to the BBB about you."

No one laughs. Tough crowd. A tense moment passes like an old Western showdown; I half expect a tumbleweed to blow through the clinic. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if a giant dirtball were to blow on through given the state of the place. The healer really ought to do some dusting... Slowly, the blue fades away and the healer slumps forward. I jump to my feet and grab him, carefully guiding him toward the cot and allowing him to collapse onto it.

My mind is screaming at me to leave. This place isn't safe. _He_ isn't safe. I'm already leery of mages; he pretty much just dug his own grave in my eyes with that volatile little episode of his (mage temper tantrums are never a small thing). But I think I owe it to him to stay a little while longer and make sure that these three really aren't here to cause trouble with him like he thought. And by "cause trouble" I mean "murder" since that's an awfully common thing in Kirkwall.

_Damn you, conscience!_

The stoic leader steps forward warily but with a hard look in his eyes. "Now, what was _that_ all about?" He queries, voice low and modulated.

"I apologize." The healer mumbles, completely dodging the question.

I stand there awkwardly for a moment before clearing my throat and placing Slicer on my back. The dwarf gives me an amused but curious look as I tentatively pat the healer's shoulder, "Er, well... Thanks for the healing, Ser Healer. I don't have much in the way of coin, but I can pay you back after I take care of some personal business." I dig in my purse and produce my last silver. I want to cry as I extend it toward him with a quivering hand. I know he works for free but I feel like I owe him for his services.

Spotting the silver coin, the healer almost looks insulted. "I don't want your coin," he pauses thoughtfully, "just give me your name."

_Oh, thank God! Wait... my name?_

Ha, no. I'm in the business of discretion. Though I have a rather impeccable record in the smuggling business, if people want me to work a job they contact me _through_ Isabela more often than not. She's kinda like my pimp, but I'm more her retainer than anything else. The dynamic works perfectly since her contacts immediately become mine- she really opened a lot of doors for me by affording me such an opportunity. But anyway, every job I take, I typically use a different name or go by Solis if it's a recurrent gig. The only way to track me is through Is or other higher-ranking smugglers. So I smile and reply easily, "Emma Davies."

"Liar."

I turn around to gawk at the dwarf. Just as I suspected, a _rogue_. They can call a bluff and sniff out a lie like a drug dog to pot. Though Isabela seems to buy some of my lies, she always manages to call me out when it comes to things like money. One time, I was really struggling to put food on the table _and_ buy Bartlett's paints and she asked me if I needed a bit of help. Of course I said no- I was too proud to admit that I was flat-out broke. The next day I found a pouch of money on my table. A frown creases my brow as I huff, "Tch. I don't see how it's any of _your_ business, serah."

The dwarf's grin widens as he exchanges a look with the leader, "But I'd like to learn the name of a beautiful creature such as yourself."

"Please, you can hardly see my face." I snort but my cheeks still flush.

_You loser._

"Varric, don't tease her," the leader chides. "Garrett Hawke, at your service." He bows his head of dark hair rather elegantly and my eyebrows pop up.

"Varric Tethras, m'lady." The dwarf bows regally.

_Peer pressure?_

"Mina." I respond flatly because I might as well give them my name _now_.

"You have quite an unusual accent, Mina." The healer states from behind me and I almost jump. "Where exactly are you from? Certainly you're not a native of the Free Marches."

"I'm from somewhere far away." I reply shortly. "You've never heard of it."

"Quite suspicious. Hm, Varric?" Hawke quirks a brow, obviously unamused.

"Yes, quite suspicious." Varric agrees in a faux serious tone.

My patience is wearing thin and I'm obviously not the only one in the clinic who is tiring of these antics. The blue-eyed swordsman is throwing heated glares at the back of Hawke's head and he's still brandishing his very large, very _pointy_ weapon. Hawke notices my gaze and smiles amiably but there's a certain tension in his expression, "The boy with the dour expression is my baby brother, Carver."

_Baby brother?_

Carver bristles at this but makes no comment, only grinds his teeth. He reminds me a lot of Mike. Well, when I would use the term "baby brother," anyway. For a fourteen year old kid, he sure did demand a lot of respect. Though he was always sweet and sometimes playful with me, he was like an ice prince with other people he wasn't familiar with. This guy, with the blue eyes, just seems like an ice prince all around.

My eyes dart from him to his brother, Garrett. Although Garrett has a somewhat easy disposition, I can see the tension in his lean frame and the fire in his eyes. He doesn't trust me or the healer and I don't trust either of them. He seems duplicitous; coming off amiable enough but he's actually poised like a viper, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. And his dwarven friend looks like he'd be a bitch to fight. Damn, this healer is on his own 'cause I'll be damned if I end up on yet another mage's bad side.

_Coward…_

I cough into my elbow, "Yes, well it's been a hoot and a half but I really need to go."

_And find Elin so I can beat some answers out of him._

"Already?" The healer asks, looking on edge. I almost feel bad for him if he expects me, a complete and total stranger of suspect background, to be his knight in shining armor. I hate to break it to the guy, really I do, but I'm no one's knight. I get paid to move around illegal shit and occasionally bump someone off if they get in the way. That's hardly the "origin story" of a hero. An anti-hero, maybe, but definitely not someone who is gonna save this pretty blond man.

"Besides," I drawl, throwing the healer a pitying look that also happens to inform him that he's totally on his own despite the internal moral war raging inside me, "you came in here looking like men on a mission. You obviously have business to attend to with the healer."

I move to leave the clinic but Hawke steps in front of me, hands spread out in a semi-placating manner. I could _almost_ buy the seemingly harmless gesture if it weren't for the menacing gleam in his eyes. Yeah, I called that one. If only I had just thrown the money at the healer and left instead of sticking around like a moron. When have I ever been the hero of anything? Never, that's when! Besides, I'm sure the healer could just, I dunno, _heal himself_ if anything bad happens.

"Actually, I would like a word with you, Mina. I have a quick question for this good man and then I'd like to see about enlisting your help." His eyes narrow when I glance at the door behind him, "You look like a woman who can handle herself, especially with that fine weapon on your back. Stay awhile and I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."

"Really?" I deadpan, "I won't be able to refuse it?" Behind him, Carver smirks.

"Of course." Hawke insists.

I click my tongue and step aside as Hawke and his crew approach the healer. I watch warily as they begin making introductions which only interests me when I learn that the healer's name is Anders (no last name, kinda like Cher). Then they start discussing some sort of map for an expedition to a place called The Deep Roads. I tune out since it's not my business and it's, quite frankly, very boring. Instead, I have Cher's _Believe_ going through my head on repeat.

_Wait a second!_

My muscles tense. They're all looking at Anders and Anders is completely focused on Hawke (kinda a little googly-eyed about it, to be honest). This could be the chance I've been waiting for! I put Cher on pause and shrug away from the wall I'd been leaning against. Quietly, I take a few steps away from the group, eyes on them the entire time as I make my way towards the door. Varric shifts slightly and I freeze. He doesn't look back and I almost sigh with relief. I continue to move and before I know it I'm out of the clinic.

Making quick work of the steps, I fly out of Darktown like Satan himself is on my heels. Letting out a loud, whooshing sigh, I begin to head toward Lowtown where that scumbag Elin lives and works. I can't wait to get my hands on him after he had me go through all that bullshit! I mean, I didn't get any freakin' sleep just so I could go on that wild goose chase! And for what? An arrow in the arm and a dagger that will probably only fetch fifteen copper?

_Elin Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is... You are_ so _dead!_

* * *

The sun is high in the sky, its warmth battling against the cool breeze left over by last night's storm. Bodies press against mine uncomfortably as elbows jab into sensitive places and boots trample over feet. Lowtown is always crowded in the morning, when people get up to get their daily shopping done at the market. It's a pain trying to get by old hags who think you're trying to buy the last of the salted fish that they want. I would be tempted to buy up all the fish just to spite them... _if_ I had the money. It's a sad state of affairs when you're too poor to be petty.

Shrugging off a persistent beggar, I make my way down to the less crowded weapon and clothing stalls. I get a bit sidetracked as I fawn over pretty dresses that not only can I _not afford_ but could _never wear_ because of how impractical they are (They _would_ serve as great disguises though. No one would expect someone in ruffles to be a drug mule.). Finally, I make my way to the weapons corner only to find that Elin's stall isn't open yet. I huff. Guess there won't be any witnesses if the old bastard tries to kill me with his bare hands.

_Time to take this straight to the lion's den._

I admit I sort of feel like a badass detective who was betrayed by the man who hired her and is now out stalking the streets, looking for revenge. A rival blacksmith points me in the general direction of where Elin is, since I've forgotten over the past few months the location of his home. Kirkwall is huge and it's a pain to get where you need to go on foot. Sometimes I'm tempted to get a horse and learn how to ride it since there aren't any cars or bicycles or even skateboards here. I'd even settle for a dorky scooter!

Feet feeling a bit numb, I find the house after disturbing several curious and irritated families and possibly a couple of shady gang leaders. No, I'm sure they were gang leaders. Normal people don't wrap their faces with bandanas and answer the door with a sword in hand, but that's beside the point. The building looks just like every other place in Lowtown: dirty, dilapidated, and probably in violation of every building code known to man. Well, known to man where _I_ come from. I don't think there are any building codes here.

Elin's hideout isn't exactly a hideout, really. It's just his main shop which is also his home. Not exactly super villain material, but it makes it easier for me so I don't have to check a bunch of different locations to find the dirty old man. Or it _would_ have made it easier if I knew its exact location to begin with. By now my stomach is growling like a wolf ready to maul someone's face off and the hunger does nothing for my mood.

_Damn! Should've bought something from the market._

Yeah. With my _one_ silver coin. I shake away the thought. Taking a steadying breath, I tug my cowl into place and knock on the door of the old man's shop. A young man with coppery hair opens the door; Elin's apprentice and grandson, Devon. The boy eyes me warily, gaze lingering on the shock of red that stains my blouse (like every other person I passed in the streets), before stepping aside and allowing me in. "Mornin' Mina," a gruff voice calls from inside. Ugh, it's Elin.

_I hate that this old nut knows my name._

I catch a glimpse of Elin's bald head and muscular back as he hunches over something. It's sweltering inside the building, but of course it would be. The man's a friggin' blacksmith! He always has the hearth going practically 24/7. I follow Devon towards the dining table and he tugs a chair out for me. Sitting stiffly, I look towards the old man.

Well, he's pretty buff for an old man. He sort of looks like a 'roided out Santa with his big, bushy white beard. That is, if Santa decided to start handing out coal to everyone no matter how good they are, since Elin's always covered in soot and oil and looks like he eats kittens for breakfast. Even his dark, dusty old home looks like a coal mine exploded in it. Of course I never say any of  _that_ to him. Instead, I greet him with an amiable and totally fake smile. "Elin!"

Ice blue eyes dart up, searching the shadow of my cowl for my eyes. He stands and makes his way over towards the table, a newly sharpened cleaver in hand. My eyes fixate on the extraordinarily sharp blade before darting over toward Devon as the kid makes his way over towards the fireplace and pulls a kettle off. "Tea?" The boy asks in his soft, melodious voice. He offers me a boyish smile as he carefully grasps the bottom of the kettle with a thick rag.

He's a stocky thing, maybe seventeen, with thick muscles and heavy limbs which starkly contrast his cherub face. Every single time that I've seen him (all three awkward encounters), he's always been nothing but nice. With this in mind, I smile politely as I say, "Yes, please."

The amber liquid fills a cup with a puff of steam. I won't drink that swill. Devon calls it tea but it's just hot water with a bit of mint. The first time I met him and Elin, Isabela told me not to drink the tea, and that's saying something if _Isabela_ won't drink it. And that kid is always chewing on mint, so I'm not sure if he chews on it _before_ he puts it into the kettle or after all the tea is finished. Though he may be a sweet kid, there's no way in hell that I'm gonna drink something that was probably chewed up. Am I a baby bird? No? Didn't think so.

Devon places the cracked clay cup in front of me before looking towards the old man, "Grandfather?" Elin waves his hand and Devon pours him a cup as well. Elin tosses it back like he's doing a shot and I can't help but wince. Steam is still billowing from my cup!

"Did you deliver the shipment?" Elin asks, beckoning for another cup.

I narrow my eyes as Devon shifts the heavy metal kettle, barely tipping it to serve the tea. It's brimming with the piping hot liquid. The boy sets the kettle on the table and disappears into an adjoining room, shutting the door behind him. I lick my lips. Now or never, huh? "There wasn't any lyrium." I confess.

Elin's lips twitch as he polishes off another cup. He gestures toward my cup but I wave my hand dismissively. With a grunt, he leans back in his chair and stares at me long and hard. "So, you failed."

I bristle. I may only have been smuggling for a little over a year now, but I'm damn good at what I do. I don't fail. Isabela worked side by side with me until she was sure I could take care of things myself. I _do not_ fail. I may screw up sometimes or come really close to blowing something, but I don't fail. Did I mention that I don't fail? Well, I don't. "There were two men there. They were sent to kill me." I pick up my cup and cradle it between my palms, "Know anything about that?"

Blue eyes dig into me like razors, "What are you goin' on about, girl?"

Girl _? This old bastard…_

So, he thinks I'm completely incompetent. That's not very nice. The warmth from the cup steadily grows until it burns through the soft leather of my gloves. I can feel the blacksmith watching my every move as my fingers tighten around the clay. I stare into the semi-clear, amber liquid, eyes lingering on the pearly mark at the tip of my nose. It's a reminder that I'm tougher than I think. That I can do this. I stare back at the man just as intently. "Oh, don't play dumb, Elin." I simper.

The only light in the room comes from the fireplace since the ratty curtains are drawn tight against the sunlight outside. The blacksmith's muscles twitch and my attention is drawn to his scarred skin. A myriad of scars- some thin and others thick- flicker in and out of sight with the dancing of the flames. Burns mar his arms and hands and one even crawls up his thick neck to lick at his jaw. It jumps with the movement of him grinding his teeth. "You've done a lot for me." Elin murmurs.

"Which makes your _betrayal_ all the more painful." I sigh, bringing the cup up to my lips but not drinking.

"No." He looks me dead in the eye, "It makes it all the more necessary."

I snort, "Do you really think I would turn you in to the authorities? I'm a _smuggler._ What I do isn't exactly legal, you know."

The blacksmith rises to his feet with a sigh and my nerves catch fire. Muscles twitch as he turns his back to me to stare into the flames. Tension crackles through the air as my fingers curl and uncurl around the cup. Finally, he speaks. "I don't know you well enough to trust you, girl. You may have been sent to me with Isabela's recommendation, but the woman is friends with some untrustworthy folk," he turns his head to the side and an ugly smirk curls his upper lip, "myself included."

We move at the same time. He whips around to grab the cleaver as I throw the cup of hot tea at him. It hits him square in the face just as his hand wraps around the blade's hilt. A pained yelp rips from his throat and I leap to my feet, hand wrenching my spare dagger free of its holster. "Bitch!" Elin roars, rubbing at his eyes and slicing the blade through the air.

_Why does everyone keep calling me that?_

I dodge a close slash to the throat as his long arm reaches across the table. Damn! He's too bulky for a thrown dagger to do much damage to him; too much muscle standing between the blade and its target. But at least his eyes were vulnerable enough- I think I might have temporarily blinded him. Elin keeps his hand pressed firmly across his eyes but the flesh that I can see from between his splayed out fingers is bright pink. A smirk quirks my lips. As quietly as I can manage with him raging about like a bull, I make my way around the table.

_Easy... Easy now…_

Keeping the blade in front of me, I'm too focused on the rampaging old man waving around a cleaver to give much thought to the scraping sound of metal against wood. Something crashes against the back of my head and I hear a crack. The dagger falls from my hand. Mint perfumes the room as boiling water splashes down my back. My nose burns as tears steam down my face. I stagger forward and grasp the edge of the table.

Fire explodes at the back of my skull and I reach for Slicer. A rough hand grabs my wrist and twists my arm painfully behind my back with a loud pop. Slicer is tugged free from my back and I groan as my face is shoved into the table. "Nice sword," Devon sneers.

Gosh, a sneer _definitely_ doesn't suit his soft voice. Despite my shitty situation, I roll my eyes. Well, I try. Moving my eyes up causes my head to throb and I choke back a groan. It figures. I manage to incapacitate Big Daddy and the pup is the one I should've been watching out for the whole time. Or at least I should have remembered that he was in the other goddamn room. "Aw, thanks, honey." I grunt as my teeth scrape against the grainy wood, "Care to let me go?"

Lightning explodes before my eyes as the baby-faced teen grabs the back of my head and slams my face against the table. For a few seconds all I see are bright red stars before the tangy stench of blood competes for dominance with the aroma of mint. It's a disgusting and heady combination that I can safely say ruins mint for me for the rest of my life. "Grandfather, run!" The boy barks and I hear the old man grunt out an unintelligible response.

All I can focus on are noises, what with my face being firmly planted against the table. In fact, my face is pressed so hard against the gritty wooden surface that I think I can actually smell what the family of two had for dinner last night. Bread? Ah, yes, freshly baked bread and some sort of cabbage soup with pork. Did I guess correctly? Did I win? Oh, my poor stomach! I hear pounding footfalls followed by a loud thud and a bang.

_Elin has left the building. Fan-freakin-tastic!_

The pressure on the back of my head steadily increases until I hear my nose start to creak. I groan and try to kick my legs out but the kid only pushes my face down harder until I'm sure I'll become one with the table. I can see the hazy room from the corner of my eye. A sardonic smile crosses my blood covered lips and I'm almost sorry the kid can't see me baring my teeth. "Let me go, kid. My problem isn't with you."

My voice comes out muffled. There's not a trace of pain in it, for which I'm proud, but inside my head I'm freaking out. Is he going to kill me? With _my own blade_ , no less? How embarrassing. Or is he going to torture me first? A glint catches my eye from my peripheral vision as the boy slowly slides my Lord onto the table. A smooth blade with intricate little carvings of dragons lays a breath away from my face. The shiny hilt, polished religiously, with its hardened leather wrappings, seems to taunt me as I lay here; bent at the waist over a table with some shithead kid holding my hands behind my back. "Aw, you're such a tease," I chuckle, lips oozing blood.

Suddenly my hands are released and I know that it's all an _obvious_ trap but I shoot my hand out for the sword anyway in the hopes that I can get to it before this little bastard gets me. Sharp, electric pain shoots up from my hand to explode in my brain as Devon pins my hand to the table with my own dagger. Polished silver winks up at me from a glistening pool of red as it bites down in the middle of my hand.

I grind my teeth, chew the inside of my cheek, damn him to hell in my brain, all to keep from screaming out. A strong hand wrenches my head up by the jaw as another rips the blade out from my hand to glide it across my throat. "Yes." Devon hisses, "I _am_ a tease."

_Note to self: Mocking the person who literally holds your life in their hands is not a_ _very_ _good idea._

A little squirmy feeling enters my stomach. This kid is enjoying this all far too much for my liking. What? Does he get off on blood play or some shit? I'm completely vulnerable, back bent to snapping as my hips are pinned to the table with a very sharp blade at my throat. _My_ very sharp blade at my throat. Why do I take such good care of my weapons? I swear I sharpen them so well they could split atoms! I should have just used that hitman's crappy dag- Oh-ho-ho! My heart leaps as I realize I'm not _completely_ vulnerable.

"You'll pay for what you did to my grandfather." Devon growls into my ear.

" _So_ sorry." I chuckle breathlessly as the sharp edge slices against my skin, drawing a fine line of heat. My heart skips a beat. I ignore it. "But it's kill or be killed, kid." As I'm talking, I slowly reach my hand down into my Batman utility belt. It's actually just a plain, bulky belt with a few pouches attached to it; one for money, one for poisons, and one for healing salves. Usually I'll stick a blade or two into it, which I'm now immensely grateful for.

Devon dips my beautiful blade into the hollow of my throat and I stop breathing. "Well, I guess it's your time to be killed, then. Unless you want to _beg_ on your knees for your life. I just might reconsider slitting your throat from ear to ear." He says in that soft, innocent voice, breath hot against my ear.

_When I gut him, I'll feel nothing._

Just as I grasp the dagger between my fingers, the front door to the dusty abode slams open and blinds both me and Devon with the morning light. Blinking past tears, I see a short figure standing in the doorway. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you." The intruder says in a voice as smooth as fine whiskey.

Aw, hell! Did Elin really call for backup? I mean, it _did_ come across as pretty cowardly for him to just leave his grandson behind to deal with a woman wielding a big, pointy sword- a woman who has done countless dangerous jobs for the guy before. Then again, Devon is practically ten times my size and he's pure muscle (well, maybe he has a little pocket of cute baby fat here and there, but still). Plus, Devon already got the jump on me so it would be really unnecessary for the old fart to send in reinforcements. Talk about overkill, no pun intended... _hopefully_.

"Who are _you_?" Devon spits. A throaty chuckle responds followed by a click and a whir. Behind me, Devon jerks and then I hear a thud. The blade at my throat disappears and I look down behind me, blinking stupidly. The boy with coppery hair and his grandfather's eyes lies spread-eagle on the floor, a bolt sticking out of his forehead.

I blink down a few more times at the dead boy, just letting the image sink in before sighing. "Aw, _shit_. Elin's not gonna like this." Sure, I wasn't going to allow Devon to bump me off or do something disgusting to me, but that doesn't mean I was going to _kill_ him. Incapacitate him? Yes. Oh, _hell yes_. Kill him? Nope. I try to spare as many lives as possible when I'm on jobs- it's probably my only redeeming quality. Plus, Devon's death will just give Elin even more of a reason to come for my head.

The stranger chuckles, unaware of the problem lying dead as a doornail at my feet. "Well, he'll just have to get over it. It's his fault for not teaching the boy how to treat a lady."

_Ooh. Suave._

Wiping the back of my gloved hand across my bleeding mouth and nose, I turn to see the blond dwarf from before. He's illuminated in the doorway like an angel, golden yellow god rays splayed out around him like he's the patron saint of kicking ass and giving crossbow-lobotomies. His honey eyes drift over the blood that seems to be perpetually oozing from my gloved hand and my busted up face. Brow puckering a bit, he tilts his head and taps his crossbow with a finely gloved finger.

_Vernon? Victor? No! Varric!_

"Bianca doesn't like it when big bad men hurt innocent women." Varric smirks when I chuckle, "But don't go falling in love with me. She's the jealous type."

I can't keep a grin off of my face even though it feels like the smallest smirk is doing nothing more than ripping my lips apart. Leaning over, I hoist Slicer up from the table and tap his hilt against my thigh. My eyes narrow as I put on a serious expression. "Please! Keep your voice down!" I stage whisper, "Slicer has a tendency to overreact. He's very possessive."

Varric gives a good-natured chuckle and beckons me forward. I hesitate as the gears in my head turn. Did this guy follow me? He must have! But why would he? Well, the better question is "Why did he wait so damn long to get his pint-sized butt in here?" If he had interrupted sooner, Devon wouldn't have ruined my money-maker! Varric quirks a brow, ripping me from my musings, and I bend down to snatch up my dagger from Devon's hand. "Why are you here?" I ask as I put all my weapons back in their rightful place.

"Hawke told you to wait, but you didn't." Varric straps Bianca to his back and adds, "That wasn't very nice."

"So, Garrett Hawke sent you after me?"

"In a roundabout way, yes."

"Roundabout?" I drawl, sauntering up to him after tugging my cowl down.

The dwarf shrugs and lets me pass into the street. "He said a few harsh things, may have cursed you to the Void and then went off to run an errand with his brother." He sets off down the road and I reluctantly follow. "He's interested in you and so am I. I hear you've done a lot of work with Rivaini."

"The what?"

Varric chuckles, "Isabela."

_He knows Isabela?_

"What's it to you?" I ask guardedly. Isabela is a peach, but she has a lot of enemies and I'm not about to unwittingly drop any information. Not like I'd _have_ any. The pirate hasn't made an appearance in a few days and I'm starting to worry even more about her. Gray hair is in the near future for me if she keeps this up. A few people brush by us, some barely even glancing at me despite the fact that I have blood running down my face like I'm a vampire who just sucked someone dry.

Dull pain pulses through my hand and my throat burns where Devon sliced me. Little shocks prickle the many places that my lips split open from getting my face slammed into a table. Even my hips ache and I'm positive I'll have some pretty bruises there. I'm sure I look a mess, but thankfully my cowl hides the fact that my eyes are brimming with tears. After taking so many hits and getting so many cuts in so many places, I still manage to cry like a little kid (behind closed doors, usually). The thing is, you _never_ get used to pain or manage to numb yourself to the shock of being assaulted. You just don't.

Varric throws me an amused look over his shoulder, "You have skill. I think you're just what Hawke is looking for."

_Oh. Nice. Is he looking for a crybaby?_

"He sounds lovely." I snort. "Can you guarantee that he won't kill me?"

"No guarantees. But he'd be a fool to let you get away a second time."

I stop walking and so does he. Giving the dwarf a serious frown, I ask, "Do I have a choice?"

Varric walks up to me and crosses his arms. He's maybe a head shorter than me which makes me feel good about myself. Too bad his next words totally kill that good feeling. "He's a persistent guy. And if he doesn't hound your steps, then I most certainly will until you agree to work with us."

_Damn you, Isabela. Somehow, I'm sure this is your fault._

"Do you mind if I get patched up, first?" I query lamely, waving my bleeding hand.

Varric grimaces and nods. "Guess it's back to the healer for you."


	13. Kiriyama: 02. Snare

**Kiriyama: 02. Snare**

The mansion, as he called it, is nothing more than a hollowed out shell of a home. Scorch marks blacken the gray stones and all of the windows are busted out. In stark contrast to the dilapidated building, I find an immense garden overflowing with all sorts of colorful flowers when I circle around the back. Cautiously, I enter the two-story mansion and begin my search for the blond mage. The place appears to have been looted at some point as I sidestep shards of what once were fine plates, burnt tapestries, and silverware that has been melted to the dirty floor. This mansion seems to have been the epitome of opulence once, but now it's nothing but a ruin.

Grand portraits crookedly line the walls of the main hall, bearing an assortment of bland faced men- young and old- with dark hair and even darker eyes. Something about their faces is reminiscent of the mage. It's in the eyes, I think, with how they appear almost dead. The dusty plaques below them all have the same name "Dermot Carrow" followed by a numeral. Each man has three portraits dedicated to himself from what looks like early adulthood, middle age, and the point in their lives when they became withered and old. I manage to see six paintings of the psycho's predecessors when I come upon two pictures with the faces burned out. The plaque says "Dermot Carrow III". I move on.

As I pass through the dining hall I see all but two chairs lining the table are burnt black. They are side by side and look to have never been touched in years. The cushion of the leftmost chair has a strange looking mark on its velvet cushion. Extending two fingers, I try to brush away the unusual substance but it's hard and flaky and won't come off. I'm about to go to what looks like the kitchen when a noise at the other end of the room catches my attention and I notice, for the first time, a staircase. Taking a breath, I pull one of my daggers out before heading over towards the stairs. Narrow, stained-glass windows depicting a small bird wrapped in vines bathe the staircase in red light as I ascend the steps.

Wind whistles through this level. The second floor is all black. Ash floats in the air and the floor groans when I step onto the landing. Any doubts that this place was once on fire disappear as I peek into each room. Everything is destroyed. Each room looks like a skeleton with nothing having survived the fire. As I move along the hall, I actually do see skeletons. Two skeletons- one large and one small- lie in two different rooms. They're in the middle of their beds, curled up as if asleep, enshrined in a canopy of ash and ruin. The bones are scorched black with the sinewy remains of flesh petrified along them. Disgusted, I move on only to come upon another room that's almost untouched.

There are scorch marks near the foot of the door on the rug but that's all. Shelves nearly exploding with books line all of the walls; three extravagant tables covered in strange tomes are pushed to the farthest wall near a few square windows and there's a gray blanket folded neatly on one of the many plush chairs that ensconce the dead fireplace. The air here is unsettling.

"I was wondering when you would finally come to your senses and return to your rightful place," a chilly voice sighs. My eyes dart towards a darkened corner of the room and I'm shocked to see that I had overlooked my greatest threat. Cold blue eyes stare directly at me as the mage cradles a thick book in his skeletal hands before snapping it shut and walking forward. He offers me a chastising look before gently placing the book on one of the tables and crossing his arms. "Where is our dearest Mina?"

"Don't talk about her," I growl.

He chuckles, "I can talk about her all I like; she is _my_ creation you know. As are you."

I don't talk, I only frown before lowering my blade so as not to startle him. This man, if you can even call him that, is unpredictable. He doesn't seem to have noticed yet that I'm armed and I'd like to keep it that way. Carrow glides over towards the chairs and covers himself with the gray blanket. The fabric looks scratchy and uncomfortable. It stirs something in the back of my mind but I can't quite place it.

Seeing that I won't be speaking, the mage shakes his head to himself, a sour frown on his lips. "Lies upon lies upon lies," the mage drawls before slowly lowering himself into the armchair. "You aren't a demon, are you? You're just a man, Steven Kiriyama. A vulnerable man from another realm, yes, but a vulnerable man nonetheless."

Carrow snaps his fingers and the fireplace roars to life, its bright light making the psychotic mage's harsh features even harsher. He's lost even more weight, if that's even possible, and his eyes appear bulbous in his skull. I stiffen when he beckons me forward but move to take a chair despite my hesitation. I take the seat furthest from him and he nods approvingly before staring into the fire. "I'm sure you suspect that I've been in Mina's dreams."

I nod.

"You're a very intelligent man, Steven. I admit that I've been visiting her, but once I felt your presence here in Amaranthine I decided to be a more fair creator. I _have_ been playing favorites. My apologies." He shrugs halfheartedly. "Though I've already taken what I need from her, mind you."

I scowl and hesitate a moment before asking, "What do you mean? What did you take?"

"Oh, my apologies!" The mage chuckles into his hand, "Poor wording on my part. I haven't _taken_ anything from the dear girl, per se. I've only witnessed all that I needed to see. She's quite an open book, that Mina; so unlike you." He chuckles again but this time it's hollow and humorless, like he resents me. "I couldn't ever get into _your_ head. My curiosity got the better of me and I delved into Mina's mind to try and figure out the reason. I can safely say that I got more than I bargained for. How very fortuitous for me."

The urge to pinch the bridge of my nose at Mina's slip-up is almost unbearable. More than likely, she didn't even _know_ that she was giving anything up. And how could she? Carrow's presence probably seemed like a natural part of a nightmare than anything else. I know that if it'd been me, I wouldn't have actually believed that the mage was legitimately _there_ in my dreams.

Carrow continues, talking over my thoughts, "She showed me her entire life. I was quite surprised by what I saw in those memories of hers. Do you know everything about your dear companion?" His cold eyes slowly turn to me. "An educated woman, though not of noble blood. Given up by a mother as selfish as she in favor of an unborn bastard conceived out of a scandalous affair. She was taught combat skills but remained careless. That carelessness brought about her untimely demise at the hands of a criminal." His eyes seem to burn my skin as he pauses. " _Your_ hands. My, how _that_ memory seemed to bleed."

My breathing is ragged as I try to contain my anger, my hatred. I'm about to speak when he cuts me off.

"Do not try to defend your actions; that would simply bore me. And do not tell me that you are a reformed man. There is no such thing."

I know he's trying to demoralize me. He wants to weaken my mental state in order to try and gain more control over me. But I won't let him do it. I'm here on a mission and that mission is to end this mage's pitiful life once and for all. Tightening my hold on the hilt of the dagger, I prepare to get up and strike. But his next words boil my blood and make me reckless.

"You cannot kill me, dear man." Carrow smirks, looking so self-satisfied that it turns my stomach sour. "I took that option away from you the night I strengthened our bond."

I'm taken back to the night that Mina and I tried to escape; how he knocked her unconscious behind my back and had demons drag the elf and myself down into the dungeons. My heart felt like it would explode as I watched him sweep her bloody form up in his arms. I worried for her when I should have worried about myself. Chained up and vulnerable, I couldn't do a thing as he plunged a dagger into my chest and pulled a light from me. He bottled it up and it turned red like blood and I felt hollow. I feel hollow.

It's that unseen, unspoken hurt that Mina and I share. The one we're both ashamed of, the one we both pretend isn't there. It's the one that makes me feel out of control, outside of myself as Carrow stabs at it with a smile on his face.

"Liar!"

Leaping up, I slash at him but my joints seem to lock just as the blade stops mere inches from his throat. Fire explodes all along my body and I clench my jaw, fighting back the urge to cry out in pain. I feel as though I'm being ripped apart as blood pounds harshly in my ears to the point that I think my head might split open. Carrow watches on, bored.

"I _told_ you." He sighs wistfully before flicking his wrist and sending me flying back into my chair. It nearly topples back, but the legs land firmly against the floor. "I'm no sadist, but you must admit that you _deserve_ this after lying to me so. You and Mina both. I'm ever so disappointed." He pulls the blanket closer to his body before closing his eyes. After a beat of silence, Carrow brushes his long fingers over his pale brow and sighs, "No matter. Honestly, I'm glad to see you. I've a bone to pick with you, Steven. _Why_ must you use your powers to such excess? I've already had to replenish your life force six times!"

I frown at this, still discombobulated and a little shaken. Being away from him for so long, I nearly forgot the power in his magic. Limbs still tremble a bit, muscles spasming as if I just finished an arduous exercise. After going mute for several long seconds, I finally find the mind to wonder, "My life force?"

Carrow huffs irritably at that question, like it's the dumbest thing in the world. "Must I explain everything? I completely take back my previous statement about you being intelligent." Sitting up straighter, he fixes me with a stern look and snaps, "Your _power_ isn't natural for your non-magical body. You are no mage; therefore you shouldn't be in possession of such powers. But since you _do_ have powers, the usage of such abilities greatly weakens your body. Hence the constant need to restore you."

"Will I die if you don't?"

"Of course!" He laughs even though this is no laughing matter. Suppose he wouldn't be laughing if the shoe was on the other foot. "But you needn't worry, dear man. I still have great use for you so I will _not_ allow you to perish." He says it like he's reassuring a child that there isn't a monster under their bed, all patronizing and almost paternal.

And Carrow's _still_ going on about the Circle of Magi? After all this time? I don't know why I'm so surprised considering the man is a raving lunatic. But this new information is more than just a bit disturbing. My life is quite literally in his hands and I can only guess that the same applies for Mina- because why wouldn't it? It makes me wonder if we need him to live all the time or only during the instances of using our "magic" which takes a toll on us physically. I don't think I want to kill him _now_ and find out _later_ , when it's too late.

Unfortunately, my plan is going to have to be reversed. Instead of killing him and then finding whatever information he has on my and Mina's origins, I'm going to have to do a bit of digging first before I finally put an end to his reign of terror. With this in mind, I ask darkly, "You still plan to overthrow the Circle?"

"Yes, I do. But sadly, in the time that you and Mina have _wasted_ prancing about Kirkwall, it has already begun to rebuild. Unfortunately, this means that we must summon more forces."

My heart ices over.

"More?"

He nods and stands swiftly, draping the blanket over the back of his chair. I watch as he moves around the room, collecting books and picking up an ornate wooden box. Carrow returns to his seat and dumps the books into an empty chair before nipping the tip of his finger with his chalky teeth and placing his bleeding finger on the box's lock. The air in the room seems to ripple as he opens the box to reveal a white cushion with two small, corked vials resting on it. With a twist of my stomach, I realize what the red fluids in the vials are just as he picks one up and examines it. He smiles lovingly before turning his gaze to me.

"Summoning you two was a fluke on my part, I must humbly admit, and I am afraid I won't be able to do it again without a little help." The vial is rolled between his pulsing palms and that empty part of me aches. "This piece of you should do the trick to summon another helper and I'll use Mina's as well. I'm so glad that I took this small fraction of your essence- your lovely little soul. Soon, my dear Steven, we will have two new warriors fighting in this noble endeavor."


	14. Quid Pro Quo

**12\. Quid Pro Quo**

"I admit I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

Anders' tone is indifferent, bordering on an attempt at sounding "peppy" after he had looked my sad self over in his doorway. Frowning at the blond mage, I take a seat on a cot in his little clinic and wince as it creaks and moans. That always does wonders for one's self-esteem: when furniture seems to cry out in pain when you sit on it. Tugging my cowl down a bit further, I shoot the mage an irritated look, "But you _were_ expecting me to show up at some point? Super."

He gives a noncommittal grunt in response as he ambles over toward me. The healer gently tugs off my glove and dips my hand into a basin of water that he'd brought over. Nimble fingers rub away the blood while another hand grabs a jar of some green stuff. My hand is dried off, slathered down with a green paste that makes my skin tingle, and then wrapped up with a bandage. I frown. What gives? I know I'd said earlier that I wouldn't mind getting injured just to feel the healer's magic touch again, but I didn't expect to actually get brutalized. And now that I'm hurt, he can't be bothered to use magic? I sorta feel like I'm getting stiffed.

I raise an eyebrow at the blond and stretch out my legs in front of me. I'm trying to look casual but the mage looks like he knows my game already. With a delicate cough, I ask, "Why can't you just do that blue light thing to it?"

"It was a clean cut. The blade didn't hit anything major, it just went straight through. The wound should heal quickly enough with that salve." Anders replies primly.

My frown only deepens. I must look like a grumpy old man because Anders huffs a laugh at my expression before carrying on with his duties. Honestly, I really wanted him to use that pretty blue light on me. It felt good last time and I think I kind of deserve it after all that nonsense I just went through. Didn't I earn it? Not half an hour ago I was assaulted by some punk teenager! A  _teenager_! I may only be twenty-one but that still stings my pride. Plus, I never even got paid.

Across the room, leaning next to the door, is Varric Tethras. The dwarf looks relaxed enough, arms crossed and posture casual, but every now and then I can feel his honey-colored eyes on me like lasers. Guess I'm not exactly trustworthy, so I don't rightly blame him for keeping such a close eye on me. But seriously, he's literally guarding the _only_ exit. What exactly am I going to do, barrel right over him or jump out a window to my death?

_Not like it would be_ too _hard to run him down._

I turn to Anders as he passes by me on his way to collect some supplies and I point to my neck. "I got hurt here, too. Oh, and my face!"

The blond nods, a slight smile turning the corners of his mouth upwards. He promises he'll see to me shortly and once he's finished his little errands he returns and begins to lightly pull at my cowl. Alarm bells go off in my head. I jerk away like I've been electrocuted and Varric stiffens and shifts his weight. Somehow, I doubt the dwarf will come to my rescue. If anything, he'll probably help out the healer instead. With a growl, I bat away the healer's hand and hiss, "What are you doing?"

"I need to wrap your neck." Anders sighs, reaching for my cowl again, "Please, I'm a healer. I think I've seen just about everything."

_Oh-ho! Don't be so sure._

" _No_." I snap, slapping his hands away once more. "No means no. Were you not taught that at apostate school?"

Irritation simmers in Anders' warm brown eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. He taps his foot and for a moment I feel as much like the child I'm behaving as. Shame burns under my skin but I refuse to simply relent and allow him to expose me to all these witnesses. What if someone knows Carrow? My penchant for the obscenely garish back in my world has left me in a predicament here- _no one_ has green hair. White? Sure. Red? Like a horribly unnatural blinding red? Yeah. But nobody else is a green one like me, so I'm not exactly covert.

"What is it?" Anders snaps. "Some skin disease or bad scarring?"

"Eh... sort of?" I reply sheepishly. "My line of business requires discretion. Not just anyone gets to see this pretty face."

A few other patients look over at us curiously- wondering why their favorite healer is reprimanding a grown woman- before going back to their business of moaning in pain and talking to relatives. I feel like such a little whiner, but I can't risk him seeing my hair. If someone sees my hair I'm sure they'll start to gossip. And in a place that lacks any form of entertainment like trash TV or NASCAR, gossip is the main vice. Not like it wasn't back (or forward?) in my time, but still…

I'm about to push him away when a sharp pain spears through my head. For a moment I forget to breathe as the pain subsides, giving way to a painful throbbing just below the crown of my head. With a grimace, I clutch the back of my head and blanche when something wet reaches my fingertips. Slowly, I bring my hand back and see deep red fluid staining my skin and soiling my fresh bandage. Anders spots it at once. "You have a head wound?" He asks in concern.

_How could I forget that that boy smacked me over the head with a kettle?_

It would be really dumb of me to continue to fight Anders about healing me. I have a _head wound_. This means I'm probably suffering from some sort of trauma which is, obviously, not a good thing. Hell, it might even be clouding my judgment right now! I think I'll blame the head trauma for me acting like a wuss... That's much better than accepting it as part of my shitty personality, yeah? " _Okay_. You can take my cowl off but you better do it behind a damn curtain." I hiss out slowly.

Looking frustrated and also a bit amused (and very, very curious), Anders leads me towards the back of the clinic, tells me with a stern frown to stay put, and pulls a heavy drape closed. The thick, suffocating fabric is hanging from a line that almost looks too thin to support it as it sections off a small corner of the open room. I notice a neatly made cot, some books, and a set of sleeping linens folded at the foot of the makeshift bed. This is the healer's bedroom.

A dull ache hits me in the chest as I stand there uncomfortably. I'm tempted to offer him Kiriyama's vacant bed back at Bartlett's but that would just seem weird. I mean, I just met the guy and no sane person asks a man they barely know to come and sleep at their house. But still... It must be tough to be in this line of work; helping people without asking for anything in return and having to sleep where you work. Before I can think on it further, the curtain is pulled open with a whir and Anders steps inside with a tray of medical supplies. He closes the curtain behind him but not before I catch a glimpse of Varric raising an eyebrow and shooting me an amused look.

_Great. Another Isabela._

"Take off your cowl, please."

"Well, since you asked _so_ nicely." I sigh, unclipping the silver fastening at my throat and unwrapping the purple fabric. It's like Christmas, only I'm the present and it's not any fun. Around and around the gauzy cloth goes, where it stops? Right when it uncovers a mess of sage curls tucked into a haphazard bun at the nape of my neck. I flat out refuse to make eye contact as I dart a hand up to rub at my scarred eye and toss my shawl over my shoulder.

"Huh. Can't say I've ever seen that before." His tone is light and joking, prompting me to raise my eyes up to meet his. They're glistening with good humor, not a trace of judgment or suspicion to be found. Though I don't appreciate the fact that he's sort of poking fun at me, it's better than him shooting dirty looks my way and saying something rude about me being some "highborn bitch" who has _so_ much money to spare that instead of helping out the poor she spends it on frivolous garbage like expensive dyes. Because I've heard that one a million times already.

_So glad I'm not getting lectured on how to spend my imaginary finances._

A smile crawls its way across my face and he smiles as well. Awkward. We stare at one another until I break into a grin. "Please fix the hole in my head." He chuckles then pulls a serious face. Cold hands pull the tie out of my hair and prod at the wound. A needle digs into my brain and I jump, "Mother of Mercy!" Anders murmurs an apology before I feel that familiar icy prickle that slowly fades into comfortable warmth. A veil lifts that I didn't even realize was there and my vision and hearing sharpens drastically. I sigh.

"There. Whoever hit you was quite strong. They managed to crack your skull."

I wince, suddenly not feeling so bad about Devon getting an impromptu lobotomy despite him just being a child. The blue light flickers once more and my nose, lips, and neck tingle with the healing energy. I swear it's like mages are aliens. Well, I mean with how they have such incredible powers from being able to throw people like dolls, make things combust, and heal wounds. It's amazing. And scary. "Thank you." I sigh, beginning to re-wrap my face, "Again."

"It's not a problem."

He's a nice guy, I admit. For a mage. Oh! _No_ , that sounds really bad. What I mean is that this "Anders the Healer" seems decent enough, maybe even funny. But I just can't seem to erase what he did not only to me but to Varric and his crew. That unusual blue light, different from the healing light in every way but color, which seemed to radiate sadness and fury. Anders is swell, but he's also dangerous. And I can't let myself forget that.

I tug on my gloves and fasten my cowl in a hurry, standing as well to shake the annoying power displacement the mage had over me with him standing and me sitting. Anders' eyes are boring into me the whole time like little pin pricks that make my skin crawl. An uncomfortable cough escapes me and I finally look over at him. His face is blank, devoid of all emotion "What is it?" I mumble, rubbing at my nose.

He sets his mouth in a firm line, "That thing you said earlier, 'Mother of Mercy', what is that?"

_Damn!_

Despite having lived in this strange world for a little over a year, I've had a hard time picking up all the local euphemisms and idioms and such like "Maker's breath" and "Andraste's flaming ass." I know of them, but I just can't condition myself to use them in place of things that I would normally say that no one seems to say here. When confronted, improvisation usually does the trick. "It's something my mother would always say in front of me instead of a dirty word." I shrug offhandedly.

"And your energy is... Different. I noticed it when you first arrived." Anders continues with a frown, "I wish I could say it was different in a good way; I admit it feels a bit calming like the Fade, but it also feels stifling, almost suppressing. It reminds me of what the Templars use; something to dispel magic and sap mana." His frown morphs into a full-out glower, "What _are_ you?"

_Double damn!_

I've had mages say before that my aura is like the Fade, but that's all. No awkward questions or shifty glances. Obviously there's something about this guy that gives him a heightened sense of "otherworldliness," like a sixth sense for magic. Now I know I need to keep my distance, at least if I want to keep my secret a secret. My heavy, burdensome secret. I can honestly say it never crossed my mind before to spill the beans about my origins. And why would it? Who would even believe me?

If I ever told a soul that I was murdered in another world and then resurrected in this one by a blood mage, they'd probably have me committed. But brown eyes dare me to try and lie, to try and dodge the question. Anders' sense of entitlement to the truth, _my_ truth, grates on my nerves."I don't owe you anything, healer. So don't go demanding things of me." It comes out like pure venom and I regret it as soon as it falls from my lips.

Anders' mouth twists into a barely suppressed snarl, "I healed you so I think that you _at least_ owe me an explanation."

"Oh? What do you want from me?" I cross my arms, "You won't take my money so what _do_ you want?"

"I want answers."

Brown eyes lock with brown eyes. Unfortunately, his eyes are a much prettier shade of brown than mine. His eyes are like toffee, really, while my eyes are like mud or nasty, bitter dark chocolate. This fact only serves to increase my hostility towards the man but I'm no fool. There's something about him that I need to watch out for. Something other than his sixth sense. His soft face was so disarming when it wasn't glowing blue. I can't place my finger on it, but he's definitely the most dangerous person I've encountered since I met Carrow.

_Dangerous._

That's what it is. Ever since I crossed this blond's path I've had Steve Irwin in my head saying "Danger, danger, danger!" Though Anders has some magical sixth sense, I have one too. I can sniff out a mage a mile away (not literally) and there's something about this mage that _isn't right_. That split personality, that blue light. This realization sends a shiver down my spine. Would that darker half come out if I refuse him, I wonder? Is he another Carrow? My phobia of mages has my throat suddenly drying and I find myself struggling to swallow.

Anders is still watching me with those glowing brown eyes and I gesture toward the bed. A fine, blond eyebrow raises and I gesture more aggressively, still unable to talk. With a curious look, he sits on the cot. "I'll tell you," I stall, running my fingertips over my lips, "if you tell me why you glow blue. My explanation doesn't come for free and, unfortunately for you, healing me doesn't pay the full price."

Those warm brown eyes narrow dangerously and I almost jump. Silence envelops us as he appraises me, weighs my words carefully before leaning forward, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his fists. He sighs, "When I was in Amaranthine I befriended a spirit of Justice. He recognized the hardships mages faced in our world. He was compassionate and he saw my plight and my desire to make things right for all children forced away from their mothers and into the Circle." Anders pauses to see if I'm still with him but honestly my head is spinning already, "He needed a host to stay in our world... and I was willing."

_Spirit? Host?_

Crazy mage confirmed! Okay, that's not fair. But if he's telling the truth, that would explain his unsettling energy. And the fact that he entrusted me with such a huge secret humbles me. Still, there's an itch on my brain. "Hold on." I hold up my hand. "Wait, wait, wait. You're _possessed_? Are you kidding me?"

Anders glares. "Justice and I are one. Are you going to call me an abomination?"

"Abomination?"

"Yes, but be warned: I've heard that one before. You might want to be a bit more original." He spits.

"Yeesh." I huff, tugging at my cowl. I'm surprised I haven't combusted into a great fireball with how he's glaring at me. But a spirit is living _inside_ of him! I'd think he was crazy if it weren't for that blue glow I saw earlier. He isn't lying to me. So, I won't lie to him. At least not too much, anyway. What? Don't judge! How am I supposed to explain that I died in another world and was summoned here by a blood mage? My lips curl into a frown. "If people have called you an abomination, then they'll call me something worse for sure."

Anders furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Eh..." I rub the back of my head.

_How do I say this?_

"My 'energy' is weird because I'm... dead."

"Dead." He deadpans.

"Well, I'm alive right now, but I _was_ dead. I was summoned with blood magic by a mage who wanted to destroy the Circle of Magi in Ferelden." I blush when I realize how blank his face is. "He thought he summoned demons but he just summoned two people. Two humans."

Not a total lie, see? I just didn't mention the "different world" part. This should make things a bit simpler. I don't want to have to go on and on, describing where I came from and all that I left behind. That would only serve to send me into a spiraling depression and I'm just barely crawling my way out of the miserable hole Carrow put me in. Torture sucks. It sucks when it happens but what comes after makes one yearn for the physical pain of the act to escape the psychological pain that won't abate. Or is that just my crazy self?

Anders wrenches me forcefully from my thoughts with one word: "Two?"

_Two wh-? Aw, you dumbass, Mina!_

My heart catches in my throat at my slip up and I swallow hard. "Ye-Yes."

"Where is the other person? Were they dead as well?" Anders' eyes shift across my face, trying to detect a lie.

I lick my lips. "He's gone."

"He?"

I slowly close my eyes, frustrated at my own stupidity with yet another slip of the tongue. "Yeah. He."

_Just keep digging that grave, Mina._

"Was he dead when he was summoned as well? Did he tell you?"

With slow, methodical circles, I begin to massage my temple. "He wasn't."

Anders' brow puckers. "Are you certain?"

_Let's see, I saw him run off, very much alive, with my blood all over him._

"Positive." I manage to grind out without hitting something.

"It just doesn't make sense if you were summoned after death and the other person was summoned while living." The mage runs a hand over his light blond hair, "I could understand if the blood mage somehow gained possession of your spirit while it was crossing realms-"

I can't listen to any more of this. I can't listen to him doubt me when I'm finally being truthful, when I know that all these things happened to me. I died! For crying out loud, I was _murdered_! I've been forced to relive that night over and over and over again in my nightmares and it seems inescapable even here. Honestly I've wanted to forget it, to pretend that it's just a nightmare, but how do you forget something like that? I snap, "Listen, I'm sure he was alive. Okay?" My voice quivers with contained rage.

He sits up straight and crosses his arms. "Why are you getting so defensive?"

"Because I didn't pick apart _your_ story and here you are, putting me on blast!"

"I apologize. You... You must be very frustrated and," Anders sighs, "I can't begin to even imagine…" I wish I had just made something up. Lies hurt less than the truth, especially when the truth is called a lie. Why did I have to pick now, of all times, to tell the truth? Well, part of the truth. I should have just lied and bade him farewell. Unaware of my quickly building meltdown, Anders continues. "But it sort of makes sense. That strange air you have about you." He rubs his chin, "Are you positive the other-"

"Yes I am! My God! He's the bastard who killed me!" I shout. Anders stares, mouth partly open.

_Hey, Mina... Get a grip!_

I take a moment to reel in all the rage and tuck it back inside. Quickly, I turn and rip apart the curtains. I'm about to leave when I pull them closed and I whip around to fix Anders with the deadliest glare I can muster. To emphasize just how serious I am, I ghost my fingers over the dagger strapped to my thigh. His eyes narrow. I hiss, "Don't breathe a word of this to anyone! The mage is still after me and the last thing I need right now are Templars rushing to beat some answers out of me about some crazy ass blood mage!"

Anders stands abruptly. "He's after you? The mage?"

_Don't remind me!_

I roll my eyes at how thick this guy is. "Yes!"

"He still believes you're a demon?"

_He's a nutcase! So of course he still thinks I'm some sort of demon!_

"Yes!"

"Do you need any help?"

"Ye- I'm sorry, _what_?" I gawk.

_Pause. Rewin_ _d._ _Yeah, he said "help."_

Good-Guy Anders looks uncertain for a moment before nodding to himself, as if reassuring himself that he isn't making the biggest mistake of his life by offering the undead and unstable woman a helping hand. I can assure you, he is. Anders says at length, "Your situation is very unusual and I must admit I find it extremely fascinating. If what you say is true-"

"It _is_." I insist, feeling a bit desperate.

"If what you say is true," he gives me a hard look, daring me to interrupt, "then you'll need help. If this mage summoned you, that must mean he can exert some sort of control over you which, I'm sure you know, is bad news for you. You'll need someone with magical abilities to aid you. This mage sounds powerful and I doubt you would stand much of a chance against him alone. No offense." He adds as an afterthought.

None taken. Carrow has already handed me my ass on a silver platter more times than I'd care to admit. For a frail looking thing, Carrow is a beast. And everything he said about Carrow probably having some sort of control over me? It makes sense! How else could he visit me in my sleep and do that weird, burning energy thing? But is this man really offering me help? Really? I mean, don't get me wrong I'll take all that I can get! It's just… No one offers something for nothing.

"How do you know so much?" I ask. Anders gives me a flat look. Right. Possessed mage. This is probably "Justice's" knowledge. Or are they the same person? That's going to take some time to get used to. Then again, "dead girl summoned by blood magic" will probably take a while for him to get used to as well. But I suppose if there are dragons and magic then I shouldn't be so surprised about there being spirits. "Thank you." I mumble embarrassedly. "But why help?"

Anders sighs, looking only mildly uncomfortable, "I have patients waiting for me. Don't think that I'm doing this _for free,_ " he mocks. "I'll see you around. Right now, you need to check in with your babysitter."

_Didn't answer my question. Curious._

I roll my eyes and open the curtains before heading over towards Varric only to freeze. He's talking animatedly with two dark haired men and by the way he nods in my direction and they turn around, I can only guess that he was talking about me. A pair of golden eyes pierce me as I slow down my pace and make my way over to them. I try to drag out the inevitable confrontation as long as possible but before I know it I'm looking up into the striking face of Garrett Hawke.

"Good afternoon, Hawke." I pause and glance over at the blue eyed man. "Hawkes."

"Mina." The younger sibling ducks his head in greeting before shooting his brother a look.

"Mina." Hawke hums, "Planning on sneaking away any time soon?"

_Not with Varric the All-Seeing around._

I sulk. "No."

"Then follow me. We have business to discuss." The tall man turns on his heel in an elegant swish of his black tunic and red cloak (are those new?). Carver scowls after Hawke a moment before trudging along, boots scuffing against the dirt. I can only stand there watching the brothers who only share a nose and a temper before making to follow them. Besides, it's not like I really have a choice, anyway. Just as I take two steps, a finely gloved hand stops me in my tracks.

Varric chuckles, "What did you and Blondie do in there?"

_Blondie?_ _Classic_ _._

I roll my eyes and he holds up his hands as if I just started swinging Slicer around. The dwarf grins, "All I know is that it took a long time, I heard some loud voices, and Blondie came out smirking."

I blush. "Oh, hush. Why do you have to make it sound so horrible?"

"I'm just telling you what I saw and what I heard."

"We just have a lot in common," I drawl, trying to be as cryptic as possible. Varric raises an eyebrow and I continue in a hurry, "Not like _that_! He... We talked. About our pasts. It was nice." I add lamely with a weak shrug. It really wasn't nice, but that's neither here nor there. But it's better if Varric thinks I have an ally in Anders just in case Hawke has something nasty in store for me- he'll hopefully think twice about whacking me if he thinks that'll lose him a healer. But gosh, this dwarf! He's so infuriating with that satisfied smirk and those knowing eyes. Well, what does he know? Nothing!

Varric shifts his weight and puts on this obviously fake look of intense thought as he rubs his chin between his forefinger and thumb. "You sure did yell 'yes' a lot." Varric muses.

_Oh my God!_

My face burns hot. "No! That-! He's _so_ not my type." I finish indignantly. Yes, I don't really get all hot under the collar at the idea of someone possibly killing me. Besides, the possession thing is off-putting and still boggles my mind. Anders and I have now entered into a delicate relationship. We know each other's darkest secret and our intentions towards each other are vague. At worst, it'll be mutually assured destruction via exposure of said secrets. At best, he'll help me with Carrow. The thing that bothers me is that I don't know what use he'll have of me.

Varric turns on his heel but not before I see the smug grin on his face at successfully taking a jab at me. Oh, this cheeky bastard. A bit sore at being humiliated, I stand my ground. I'm sure he can feel the way my eyes burn into the back of his head because he stops and looks back at me curiously, "C'mon, Lucky."

That slaps me out of my stupor. " _Lucky_? Who am I, your dog?"

"What? The first time we met, you nearly lost your arm and the second time you almost had your throat sliced open." Varric tosses me a smirk. "Yours truly helped, but I still say you're pretty damn lucky, Lucky."

_That… makes sense. Damn him!_

I glower down at him for that dime-a-dozen nickname. "Fine, Shortcake."

He clutches at his hairy chest and puts on a pained expression. "You wound me."

"Oh, please." My lips twitch as we begin to follow the men, side by side, "It's because you're short and sweet." He barks out a laugh and Hawke looks over his shoulder irritably. What can I say? After relying on my charms (which are admittedly lacking) for quite some time, it has become a habit to say silly things and sweet talk people with flowery words. Usually it gets me a better cut of meat at the market or extra coin for doing a job, but with Varric it just seems… fun. Gosh, I haven't had fun in such a long time.

* * *

"To The Hanged Man!"

Bars (taverns, pubs, what have you) have never been my favorite hangout, but I guess if I'm going to start hanging around Hawke and Varric, I'll probably find myself in the seedy depths of The Hanged Man pub quite often judging by how they're greeted by the bartender. I've only ever passed by this place while on the job or on the way home, but I know it to be Isabela's favorite haunt. I've just never stepped foot into the popular pub with a wooden man hanging by the ankle outside. Not very inviting, if you ask me.

Hawke and Carver veer off to a secluded spot in the pub's main room and the older sibling begins to talk urgently to the blue eyed young man. Every now and then, Hawke's bright eyes flick up to me and Varric as I look around like someone is definitely going to come up and try to stab or mug me. It feels a bit awkward just standing in the doorway, so I shift my gaze to my short companion. Eyes glittering with mirth meet mine.

_He always looks like he's laughing at some private joke._

"Come here often?" I ask Varric, fingers itching to grab my dagger when all eyes turn to us. The place is full with a sea of dirty faces. Men and women alike openly gape at us and I can only assume that it's Varric they're in awe of. He probably has some sort of reputation and hopefully that means no one will try to mess with us. Besides, who wants to pick a fight with some blood splattered stranger in a cowl (God, I need to change)? Or a dwarf with a crossbow?

Varric gestures for me to follow him, "Of course. I rent a room here." I can't help but grimace at that aloof comment. He lives _here_? The place is poorly lit and musty and littered with heavy tables and clunky chairs. The acidic stench of vomit and the tart scent of ale combine to make a formidable odor that makes my eyes water. It's a far cry from the clubs I remember Cheyenne taking me to, but this is Kirkwall and not Montrose.

_I have to stop living in the past._

"Here, Lucky. This one's on me!" Varric grins, snagging a tankard of ale from the bar and shoving it into my hands as we make our way to the back rooms. Glancing down at him, I take a tentative sniff of the ale and cringe. Not wanting to offend the dwarf, I bring the crusty tankard to my lips and take a healthy swig. It's an effort not to spit it all on the back of a stumbling drunk's head- not that he'd notice. Apparently the specialty at The Man is some kind of putrid ale that smells like sweaty socks and tastes even worse.

But we're not here for the drinks, oh no, the pub is where I'll either be killed by Garrett Hawke or questioned about some "business." I don't know which. I'm still wondering why I didn't run away while I had the chance. It would have been so simple to just shove Varric into Hawke and outrun Carver… And then Varric would have promptly shot me in the ass with a crossbow bolt.

As if sensing my thoughts of escape, Varric smacks his hands down and grips my shoulders, steering me up a short flight of steps. I'm pulled to a swift halt at a closed door which swings inward to reveal a tall, scowling, red-headed woman. Caramel colored freckles decorate her prominent ruddy cheeks and her lips almost look mauve in the dim light. Her vibrant green eyes flick down at me briefly before burning into the man behind me (thankfully she looks at Varric before I blush like a schoolgirl). "You're late." She addresses Varric as he pops his head around me to get a look at her.

_Wow. Who is_ this _?_

She looks awfully serious in that shiny armor of hers and with that sword and shield on her back. In fact, that's _guard_ armor. A pin is shoved forcefully into my fleeting crush. They have a person on the inside! Yup. They're going to kill me and the guard will help cover it up. Hell, they're probably some hired goons paid by a paranoid ex-boss of mine to make sure I never breathe a word of their shady business. Hopefully they'll fail at murdering me like Elin's did. That's probably wishful thinking, though.

"Aveline!" Varric steps around me and opens his arms. "Didn't Hawke tell you that we would be running late? This one," he gestures toward me and her eyes bore into me, "ran into some trouble and needed to see a healer. Sorry you had to wait."

He doesn't sound all that sorry to me and Aveline doesn't buy his apology either. Her eyes narrow dangerously before she steps aside and Varric drags me into the room after him. It's about the same size as the first floor of Bartlett's home, but the furniture looks nicer and polished. I'm immediately embarrassed that my home doesn't even look better than a room in a dirty pub. I ask ashamedly, "Your room, I presume?"

"Correct, Lucky."

I stand there awkwardly as he and Aveline take a seat at a long table with many chairs. Truthfully I don't want to sit. I feel as though if I sit, I'll just seal my fate- whether that means I'll die or I'll be assaulted for the third time today. I have to rationalize with myself that these people couldn't have been hired to kill me because why do so in such a public place? Then again, The Man isn't exactly a hangout for law-abiding citizens. Stomach knotting up with tension, I don't hear the footsteps behind me.

The sort of medicinal scent of lyrium mixed with something spicy hits me full force as a hand gently but firmly grabs the back of my neck. I wriggle uncomfortably as Varric watches with that ever-present amused smirk on his face and Aveline shoots my assailant a curious and disapproving look. The pressure on my neck increases and I think this must be how kittens feel when their mothers pick them up by their little neck flabs.

I'm dumped into a chair and Hawke sits next to me at the long table in a flurry of black and red robes. He looks almost regal at the head of the table as he leans back lazily in his chair, short black hair ruffled with careless ease and golden eyes half-lidded as a frown crawls across his face. Blushing, I readjust my cowl and brush off my blouse. The sound of a chair screeching reaches my ears and I look up as Carver sits directly across from Hawke, _way_ at the other end of the table. Wow, I wonder if he's sending his older brother a message?

"Tell me, Mina." I jerk at the deep, soothing sound of Hawke's voice. "What do you do?"

_As if you don't know? Why else would you have Varric chase after me?_

Glancing at the guard I reply sweetly, "Why, I'm a smuggler of course."

As expected, Aveline looks quite displeased with this information and I briefly wonder if she's going to slap some cuffs on my wrists ( _oh-hon-hon_ ). She shoots Hawke a look of warning but he pays her no mind. Disturbingly enough, his eyes are completely fixed on me- unwavering in their intensity. I half expect to smell burning skin at some point as I resist shifting in my seat. "When you were in the clinic, how did you get injured?" Hawke asks.

"I was shot with an arrow." I shrug.

_D_ _oy_ _._

"I know that." Hawke replies curtly. "How did it happen?"

I roll my eyes. "Be more specific, then. I was fighting a man at the docks and an archer popped up on the roof of a warehouse and shot me." The thought of it makes my shoulder sting and I almost regret not making sure the archer died. "I threw a dagger and hit him in the chest before finishing off his comrade."

"And afterward?" The brunet mage leans forward. "What happened after that?"

What the-? Is this some sort of interrogation? Is he going to shine a light in my face and play Good Cop Bad Cop with Aveline? It kind of feels like a bizarre job interview with the world's most intimidating boss: Garrett Hawke. The man is authoritarian, a far cry from the semi-charming man who was trying to pal around with me when we first met at Anders' clinic. This revelation makes me sigh. I'm just a magnet for the crazies, I tell ya. I purse my lips. "I went after the man who hired the two hitmen. That's when Shortcake found me."

Carver chokes on nothing and I see Aveline's lips quirk as her emerald eyes glisten. Hawke, on the other hand, doesn't seem to find my nickname for Varric all that funny. He looks at me like a disappointed parent and I almost feel ashamed. Maybe he'll actually scold me about giving people rude or embarrassing nicknames? If he does, I'll point at Varric and say, "He started it!" Thankfully, Hawke continues on with his questioning instead. "What happened when you confronted the man? What's his name?"

I sigh, "His name is Elin. He escaped and his grandson almost killed me."

"Why would he want you dead?"

_This game of twenty questions is becoming irksome._

"Because I've done a lot of smuggling for him. I know too much about his shady dealings- dealings no common blacksmith should have unless he wishes to pay a friendly little visit to the Gallows- so he thought it only made sense to have me slaughtered."

"Told you, Hawke. This is our woman." Varric nods, looking satisfied. "She fits the description."

_Description?_

I inhale deeply through my nose. "What do you want from me?"

Brown eyes flicker toward Hawke for a moment before Varric gestures for me to drink my ale. I glance down at the amber liquid and am about to oblige when I catch sight of something floating in it. I'm not really sure what it is but it's a _clear-ish_ thing... Oh, God dammit. Pursing my lips, I keep the tankard on the table. Varric sighs, "Rivaini told me about you. She said that you were very skilled with that sword of yours and that you're the sneakiest warrior she's ever met; fast on your feet, quick with a blade, and you never lose a man on the job. I mentioned you in passing to Hawke and he was interested. As he should be."

_Aw, how sweet! Of course she would say all that nice stuff, she_ did _train me._

"And this interests you because…?" I wave a hand in the air, "What? You want me to help sneak something into the city?"

Aveline looks genuinely appalled by the idea, like I just asked if they wanted me to go out and kick every cat I come across, while Varric looks amused. But what's new about that? For as long as I've been around him, he always looks amused about something. The dwarf turns to the mage and gives him an expectant look, "Tell her what you want, Hawke. I didn't bring her to you for you to just stare at her."

Varric is rewarded with a glare for his smart mouth. Two golden lasers burn into me, "I have some business I need to attend to up on Sundermount. A debt needs to be repaid to some old woman." Hawke announces. "I'm looking for another person to aid me since I don't exactly trust that the task she requested of me will be quite so simple. It's best to err on the side of caution."

"What's the task?" I ask, playing with my tankard so I don't seem so interested. This hoity-toity mage needs help? Ha! That's one thing I don't envy about mages: the fact that they focus so much on casting their fancy little spells that they forget that they need to be able to take at least a punch in battle. What good is spellcasting if you're just going to get skewered with a sword anyway because you can't bear to wear decent armor?

"She asked me to deliver an amulet to a Dalish tribe's Keeper on the mountain."

I look around at the motley crew. Aren't these three enough for a delivery? I heard once from an elf and fellow smuggler that the Dalish elves don't exactly care much for humans, but Hawke has two powerhouses in Carver and Aveline and a sneaky rogue to protect him. Plus, he has his own magic to depend on. Carver looks as stuffy as ever and Varric is smiling mischievously.

Aveline looks from me to Hawke uncomfortably for a moment before speaking, "Hawke, I can find time to make the trip. I just-"

He waves her off, looking mildly offended and a bit frustrated. "I know you're busy with guard duties, Aveline. You needn't worry about me. I'm not a little boy."

_Ouch!_

Her cheeks redden. "You know I wasn't implying anything."

"Of course _I'm_ coming, brother." Carver snaps.

Garrett sighs tiredly before pinching the bridge of his nose, "I know that, Carver."

_Oh. They don't get along? Never would've guessed._

"Sounds like an adventure, Hawke. You know I wouldn't miss it for the world." Varric grins, "If I don't go, who will be able to regale everyone with extraordinarily convoluted stories of your exploits afterward?"

"I was counting on you to come with me, Varric. I don't doubt your loyalty or your desire to always have your nose in my business." Hawke smiles.

Garrett Hawke actually _smiles_. Not a smirk or some kind of grimace, but a smile. At Varric. Well, that part isn't too surprising. Varric could probably get a smile out of a rock. But wait, Hawke was already planning on having Varric tag along and now he has Carver's guarantee? That's three people. So, why the heck does he need anyone else? It's a bit overkill, if you ask me. Then again, I usually fly solo or with two other smugglers.

I lick my lips. "So, why do you need me? It looks like you already have yourself a sturdy group."

That smile slides off of his face once he sets his critical eyes on me. He's like an android or something, like the creepily serious ones you see in cheap sci-fi films. Emotionless, detached, and cold. But oddly (or not, since I _am_ a stranger) that coldness is only directed at me. Really, if he's trying to make me feel welcome then he's doing an amazing job. I'm _so_ feeling the love.

"I'd prefer to have a competent warrior watch my back while I cast spells when Varric and Carver are busy slaying enemies. There are a lot of creatures on Sundermount and I don't want us to get overwhelmed."

_Huh. That makes sense._

Sounds to me like Garrett Hawke is a tactician. I would have just gone to Sundermount all alone and took everything in stride. Mind you, the last time I worked alone I ended up getting ambushed and wound up with an arrow in my shoulder... Oh, and then I nearly had my throat sliced open. Almost forgot about that one.

"You'll be compensated for your time, of course." Hawke adds. The mage's tone is so icy that I almost tell him that _I'll pay him_ to stop being such an ass, or to at least ignore me since I don't want his crappy attention. But the prospect of money is too great to pass up, so I keep my smart mouth shut. I need the money. I mean I _really_ need it. I'm so close to paying off Bartlett's debt that it's making me anxious.

"How much?" I ask.

"You get to keep whatever loot you find."

Eh, it's not as good as having a guaranteed amount of coin but it'll do. Plus, I've never actually been to Sundermount (not just passing through) and the thought of being in nature after being cooped up in a city of stone and chains is too good to pass. Who would have thought that I would ever miss nature? I hate camping! Did I tell you the story of when I went camping as a little girl with my grandpa and a raccoon fell on my tent? I did? Oh. Well, it was traumatizing. Especially since I was sleeping in the tent when it happened.

I lean back with a smirk as I tug my cowl down an inch. "I'm game. But who exactly is this old woman? Must be trouble if you're asking for help."

"She's a witch." Carver sneers his distaste. "She helped us escape the Blight but I don't trust her."

Rubbing my chin with my forefinger, I comment airily, "Sounds like she saved your lives. I think that warrants a _bit_ of trust."

Brilliant blue eyes bore into me. "Yes, well you see where _your_ trusting nature got you: scarred and unable to show your face amongst even the lowest scum of Darktown because a man you put your trust in wants you dead."

My jaw tightens. Where the hell did that come from? Honestly, I don't think I said anything to garner such a spiteful remark from the blue-eyed swordsman. The urge to self-consciously rub at the visible part of my scar- namely at the tip of my nose and across my cheek- is almost unbearable. He must have a serious chip on his shoulder. "Honey," I say tightly, "Elin and his goons aren't the reason why I wear this hood. Besides, I'm not being hunted by a dirty blacksmith because I trusted him too much; I'm being hunted because of what I do for a living."

His intense stare doesn't waver and I almost forget the three other people in the room. The young man leans forward in his chair, muscular arms bracing against the table. "Why _do_ you hide your face, then?" He asks seriously.

"Yes, why do you?" The elder Hawke prompts, completely distracted from the previous topic.

I'm facing down two birds of prey. Their curious and heated gazes nearly swallow me up on either side and I carefully bring my tankard full of piss ale to my lips and take a tentative sip just to distract myself and give myself time to think of... something. The warm liquid buzzes on the tip of my tongue as heat flows through my veins. I should be very careful.

"I'm a smuggler. I can't risk exposure in case a guard catches a glimpse of me." I shrug one shoulder and take another sip, "People are depending on me to get the job done and I have someone else depending on me to make money. I can't afford to be compromised."

"So, you're just trying to get by." Aveline states and I feel her eyes burning into the shadow of my cowl, searching for my eyes like so many people tend to do. "You're trying to support your family."

"Says most criminals." I smirk when her cheeks color a bit. "I don't mean to offend. I'm just stating the truth. I know what I am."

I stopped trying to convince myself otherwise a long, long time ago. Killing a person changes you. Morals gave way to the desire to survive and I had to throw them out entirely lest I become so disgusted with myself that I would lose the will to live. Reason overrode ethics and self-respect. I admit that I often feel like a shell of my former self; a depraved, empty shell. Ale burns down my throat as I take a swig.

"You're amongst friends, there's no need to hide." Varric says, gesturing around the room.

Glancing at my companions, I take in each and every one of them: the mischievous dwarf, the jealous sibling, the upright woman, and the fastidious mage. What am I? The corrupt smuggler. That's what I am. The truth doesn't hurt as much as it did about a year ago and I'm not sure if that should bother me or not. It does. "Friends." I snort. " _Right_."

"I think we can be very good friends." Varric says, brown eyes twinkling with interest. "If you take that hood off, of course."

The hood, the hood, the hood. It's like my entire life now revolves around this damn thing. "I don't take this off for anyone." I drawl, running my gloved hand over the thin fabric, "Friend or no."

"Aw, come on. Don't you want to be friends?" He baits. "How can we be friends if you don't even trust me?"

"I _just_ met you. It's gonna take a while before I actually trust you." I laugh, but my mind is taking a different turn from my previous words. "But if you keep the ale flowing you'll get me out of more than just my hood."

_Nice one. Where'd that come from?_

Depression. I think I can safely lay blame with my crippling depression that only seems to abate when I'm in the company of people like Isabela. Funny people, flirtatious people, sneaky people. People I probably shouldn't trust. People who can make me forget that my life is like a bottomless pit of murder and deceit and pain. They keep me from thinking about all the people I've killed and how my family would be ashamed to see me now.

_You did what you had to do. Remember that._

I toss back the last of my ale and grimace. Varric throws his head back and laughs. Varric's laughter is surprisingly smooth and seductive- all rogue. The other three shoot me disapproving looks. Aw, screw 'em. At least I got a laugh out of Varric. Besides, the offer was directed at him, anyway- even though I was only really half serious. Varric smiles good-naturedly at the joke and speaks in a pseudo-serious tone, "Actually, I might take you up on that offer."

I shake my head and offer a sultry smirk, "We'll see." I'm a terrible flirt. I always have been, but somehow coming to Thedas just made it loads worse. Relying on my "womanly wiles" to get me out of threatening situations is probably the cause, no matter how underhanded my methods. So, now it's just second nature to fool around and disarm people with my "charm." The accent helps. People like accents.

From the corner of my eye I see Carver blushing bright red as he glares disapprovingly at the blond dwarf. Gosh, he reminds me so much of Mike and how he would always get his panties in a wad every time I would say something risqué. Sometimes it's hard to remember who the older sibling is. Or _was_. A sharp stab in my chest leaves me breathless and I scramble to regain my senses. "Why is it so important to see what's under my cowl?" I ask lazily, chipping a bit of some unknown crust off the rim of my empty tankard.

Hawke speaks up, eyes narrowed, "If we don't know what you look like, how can we trust you? Think of it as a sign that you can trust us with the 'secret' of your identity and that we can trust you enough to give you the job."

_So, no big reveal means no money?_

Whoever is running this universe has a sick sense of humor. I mean, I just showed Anders my horrifically scarred face. Do I really need to expose myself to these four? Ugh. Yes. Yes, I do. If I want the chance to earn their trust and make money, that is. Actually, that whole "trust" thing is just BS. I have a feeling that Garrett Hawke will never, ever trust me. Still, I have to do it. Besides, it's not like I'm trying to win a beauty pageant or get laid, anyway.

_Damn it! The things I'll do for trust… and money. Mostly money._

"Fine, fine. Just don't swoon." I drawl. A heart attack is in the near future for me. Or a mental breakdown over my decimated self-esteem. The tension is thick in the air. Well, tension for me, anticipation for the others. I wonder what they think lies beneath this cowl. A monster, maybe? That's not too far off the mark. Slowly, I raise my hands and caress the ends of my cowl with my fingers. Then, I drag them down idly towards the clasp that rests at my throat. The corner of Varric's mouth is struggling to be still as it jerks up and down.

Carver huffs, "Oh, would you stop fooling around and just-!"

The words die in Carver's throat as I rip the cowl off in one quick motion. Soft, fluffy curls of green hair fall over my shoulders. I run my fingers through the impossible green mess and can't suppress a nervous chuckle. Hopefully they're too distracted by my hair to notice just how bad my scar really is. But that's probably just a pipe dream. I cough, "I tend to stand out, which is why my cowl is so important. I'd be _way_ too easy to pick out of a line-up."

Varric whistles, "And I thought Aveline would be hard to miss in a crowd."

At this, Aveline shoots him an irritated look and then her eyes soften slightly when she turns her gaze back to me. I can practically feel her eyes traveling along the length of my scar from where it drags down the corner of my left eye to where it ends in a jagged gash through the middle of my right cheek. "You're quite young," she says and I hear the hidden question in her words.

What she's really saying is, "How old are you?" I've always looked rather young. Call it the Solis family curse, if you will- kids want to flirt with you and people your own age think you're a minor. Heat rises to my cheeks when I realize that Carver is darting his eyes from me to Hawke. Oh. So he thinks he's _older_ than me? As if, shrimp-puff! I click my tongue as I pat my pockets down for another hair tie. Did Anders take mine? My lip curls, "I'm not a child. I'm in my early twenties."

Two orange eyebrows shoot up. "Your twenties?"

Carver frowns. "Don't lie. I'm nineteen and I know that I'm older than you. What are you, sixteen?" He turns his gaze to Hawke. "Brother, we can't let her fight with us. She's practically a child!"

_What? Child?_ _Them's fightin' words._

That really burns me. I've been calling him a kid in my head all day and now he has the gall to call me a child out loud? And _nineteen_? I'm _way_ older than him! Uh. Well. Two years older than him isn't a lot, but it's _still_ older. It's still enough to give me reason to feel insulted. "I'm _not_ a child." I hiss, tying my hair into a messy bun with clumsy hands. "I'm two years older than you, thank you very much!"

Now it's Carver's turn to blush as he shuts his mouth. Yeah, punk, I'm your _elder_. Varric looks slightly amused as he turns his teasing gaze onto the hot-headed swordsman. Carver immediately notices the humor in the dwarf's eyes and bristles. He mumbles something that sounds a lot like "shut up" before glaring down at the table.

"Show me what you can do on this trip and maybe I'll use you in the future. Be outside the city walls at sunrise, no later. We'll head off to Sundermount once everyone meets up at the outer gates near the Hightown weapons stall." Hawke says, completely unfazed by everything. "Then we'll probably have to set up camp on the way back since the trip to Sundermount won't be a short one. Bring enough supplies for yourself and dress for the weather. It should be raining in the morning."

I need to write this down. _They_ don't. What I've learned is that everyone here has excellent memory. Hell, Isabela even recounted an entire conversation she and I had about "what I wouldn't do to have a nice pair of boots" verbatim in order to get me to french kiss her. I guess my memory is so spotty compared to theirs because I've depended on technology to do all the remembering for me for most of my life. Oh, what I wouldn't do to get my iPhone back… I should probably stop saying things like that so I don't give Isabela any more openings…

"Right." I say confidently, though my head is spinning.

"Dismissed."

_What?_

Keeping myself from gaping takes a lot more effort than you would think. I stand swiftly and walk toward the door as calmly as I can, pulling my cowl up and over my head in the process. Being treated like a lowly underling is annoying, to say the least. Despite my overwhelming desire to backtalk and tell Hawke that he can't boss me around, I make it to the door with no drama. He's my new boss, after all. Just as I push it open, a hand rests on my elbow. I look down to see a head of perfectly groomed blond hair.

"Yes, Shortcake?"

"I owe a pretty lady some ale, remember Lucky?"


	15. Kiriyama: 03. Waste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have the very gory chapter. Lotsa body horror. Very, very skippable if you're squeamish. Seriously, you can skip this and not miss out on anything that isn't recapped in Kiriyama's next chapter sans gore. It's all good.

**Kiriyama: 03. Waste**

It doesn't take very long to collect an adequate amount of sacrifices. Guilt throbs in my heart as I patrol the cells in the dungeon, refusing to look at the men who call for help and curse me. They're all soldiers. According to Carrow, there have been a lot of soldiers crossing the country from Denerim to other parts of Ferelden by order of the king to help rebuild the nation after the end of the Blight. The mage grasped this opportunity with gusto.

We took them from the trails, all twenty of them. One by one so as not to cause alarm amongst the troops; sometimes we would take them in pairs. We would split up with one of us grabbing a solider further down the road than the other. Two or four men would simply disappear from the group and the others would just think they got lost and they expected that those who were missing would show up later. They never would.

"How are our guests?" Carrow's frail voice floats down from the staircase.

I look over the scowling and cowering men before ascending the steps. Carrow waits in the kitchens which are littered with the charred remains of the staff. He sits on a crate as he leafs through a book that probably weighs more than him. The mage is always reading books and writing in journals. Once, when I tried to read one of his journals, I found that it was written in some strange language. Latin, maybe? Then again, this is Thedas.

"They're fine."

"Still making threats and begging for freedom?"

I nod stiffly. "Yes."

"Good!" He snaps the book shut and gestures for me to follow. "That means they haven't lost their hope. As long as there's hope, there's spirit! They're practically synonymous, you know."

I don't respond. I never actually have to respond unless he directly tells me to. I've realized that the man will often times talk to himself, murmuring about strange things and speaking in tongues. Sometimes, it seems he prefers the _appearance_ of speaking to someone rather than having actual conversation. The blond exits the kitchens and I follow him into the dining room and up the steps to his sitting room. The place is cluttered with notes and drawings and marked-up books; the room of a researcher.

"Twenty men in good health. Twenty able bodied men ready to give their lives for something greater than themselves," he whispers excitedly.

He's got it all wrong. But projection will do that. Nobody is as excited about what's to come as he is. Nobody could be, really. And though I'm curious, I'm dreading what I know is going to happen. Standing in the doorway, I watch as he shuffles through a pile of scrolls before plucking one out and placing it on top of a strange book- his favorite book made of flaky leather. Boney hands clutch the items to his chest and his blue eyes lock with mine.

"Bring the saw."

The saw. Right. He made me go into town a week ago to purchase one. It leans against the wall next to the fireplace; unused. I shudder to think what its purpose is in all of this madness. I shudder when I realize that, deep down, I _know_ what its purpose is and I know that I'm going to be complicit in it. Because no matter how crazy this gets, I'll stay. It's my curiosity that drives me to stay and see this through. I want to know exactly how Mina and I came into existence here. I also want to keep a close eye on the lunatic.

Carrow has been busy with this project and content with my compliance thus far. I like knowing where he is and what he's doing and that he's miles away from Mina. As long as this project keeps him busy, I know he won't have the time to bother Mina in her sleep which puts me at ease... to a certain extent. Then again, there's no possible way that she could give away _any more_ information than she already has. Still. Silver lining.

Saw in hand, I follow him back down the steps and have to shake ash out of my hair once we're in the only place that isn't full of soot: the basement. The blond mage ushers me down the corridor and to what was once a large area for wine and alcohol storage but has since been completely gutted. The stone floor is slick with moisture in the dank room and the musk of mold is heavy in the air. Carrow already had me prep the room with an abundance of torches, so not an inch of the makeshift dungeon is left unseen.

Metal teeth scrape against the callused skin of my palm and I look down at the tool. Hazel eyes reflect back at me in the shiny surface and I let it drop to my side. The waiting is killing me.

"This way. Yes, yes. Good."

Blank faced men stumble through the doorway as Carrow ushers them in like sheep. They're all eerily calm compared to the rowdy crowd behind bars that I had seen just moments ago. One by one they're all positioned in a large circle before Carrow beckons for the saw. My brow crinkles but I step forward anyway. His pale hand is clamped down on one of the men's shoulders and I can see him feeding some sort of dark energy into the soldier.

He takes the saw. "Now for the tricky part. I'll do the messy bit while you keep watch. Alert me if one of them is about to die."

I'm about to ask what the hell he's talking about when he lifts the tool and begins sawing away at the man's arm. He doesn't even flinch. The soldier's tired gray eyes stare ahead as blood pours from his arm. The sickening sound of crunching bone fills the air and my nostrils flare at the coppery stench as I stand there, stunned, as the crazy bastard removes one arm, then the other and then makes the man lie down so he can have at his legs. I don't think I can move.

"There. Now, drag the torso to the center. Make sure there's a substantial amount of blood trailing from the outer ring to the middle," Carrow orders as he finishes removing the man's limbs and moves on to the next, wiping his hand across his forehead, leaving a crimson steak against his pale skin.

Heart pounding, my lips tingle as my entire body goes numb. From his position behind one of the other soldiers, Carrow gives me a withering glare. I need to take a page from Mina's book and continue to do and say everything to make him happy. It's not as though accessory to murder is the worst crime I've committed. Steeling myself, I drag the man's torso to the center of the ring.

I'm surprised he hasn't died yet. Then again, he isn't really bleeding so much. That must have been what Carrow was doing when he was pouring energy into him; keeping him from bleeding out too quickly. Just when I've begun to cope with the situation and accept what's expected of me, the man seems to snap out of his stupor. It's a haunting sound; the sharp, strangled intake of breath as he realizes what's been done to him before he begins shrieking and crying hysterically.

Can't look at him. Won't look at him.

Two, three, four, twenty. A cacophony of voices bounce off of the walls and the putrid stench of blood mixed with urine fouls the air. There's no going back from this. Carrow stands beside me and begins to sing in that strange language of his. The singing reminds me of when Mina would hum and sing songs from home; some of which I knew and some I didn't. I never realized how much I appreciated that little reminder of home. But this song isn't familiar nor is it comforting. It's dark and depressing. It's a dirge.

Carrow shifts beside me and I watch as he opens the vial. _My_ vial. The liquid shimmers like silver until he smears it between his palms. Breathless, I watch as he utters the final syllable and rips the skin of his palm open with the sharp teeth of the saw. The blood of twenty men mixes with Carrow's blood and my essence. Everything turns a blinding shade of white for a few seconds before fading.

An explosion sounds in the back of my brain and I collapse to my knees. Vision blurred by red, I look down at my shaking fists to see them flicker in and out of sight. My entire body seems to be stuck between teleporting and staying in the dungeon. Carrow notices this and swears harshly before muttering some words. Darkness encases me until the pain fades, then I'm back in the dungeon and heaving for air.

"What the hell was that?" I hiss, standing shakily. Muscles feel like they're made of jell-o and an odd ache has settled seemingly right in the marrow of my bones. Something warm drips down from my nose but I'm still too dazed to pay much mind to it.

Carrow ignores me and walks to the middle of the room, arms outstretched in confusion, and I realize that the men are all gone; only their limbs remain. The mage's shoulders slump and he wipes his hands down his face. "Such a waste." I couldn't agree more. Such a waste of life and for what? He turns around slowly, fixing me with a dead-eyed stare. "This is _your_ fault."

I blink in genuine surprise. " _My_ fault?"

"It was _your_ bad blood that ruined the ritual!" Unadulterated rage spreads across his white face before it's abruptly snuffed out, replaced with apathy. Carrow sighs and shakes his head, like he lost a five-dollar scratch-off lottery card and didn't just murder twenty men for no good reason. "No matter. I must research this further. We will be successful next time. I swear it."


	16. Lost Kitten

**13\. Lost Kitten**

Taking up Varric's offer to buy me drinks wasn't a very good idea. Then again, I'm not exactly the master of having good ideas. I'm more like the Queen of Half-Baked, Shitty Ideas That No Sane Person Would Even Consider (what a title, indeed, and a well deserved one). Need I recount all of my terrible plans? Like doing laundry in the dead of night or going solo on a shady job? I'm sure the list would take years to read and it would just end up making me feel absolutely horrible. And stupid. Definitely very, very stupid.

Currently, my worst idea was allowing Varric to buy me round after round of ale the night before a big job- the night before my _first_ job with Garrett the Grump. Varric's a lot like Isabela in that he can easily drink me under the table despite his small, pint-sized, fun-sized stature. However, despite my regret, drinking with him was a lot of fun because he told me all sorts of hilarious stories. Or maybe they were hilarious because of all the alcohol? But, really, now I'm regretting it.

My dwarven companion left some time in the evening because he had business to take care of with Our Lord and Savior Hawke. When I had asked Varric what they were up to, he casually replied that they were helping out my mage lover, Anders. After a bit of sputtering on my behalf, his words actually hit me. I watched as he left, telling the barkeep over his shoulder to put all my drinks on his tab. Despite the urge to follow, I remained at The Man for a little while longer before stumbling my way home. Luckily enough, no one accosted me. Usually you can't turn around in Lowtown without getting mugged.

When I got home I was surprised to find Bartlett squatting at the bottom of the stairs leading from his room with a basin of water, a washboard, and some clothes. There were a lot of clothes drying in front of the fireplace and I stumbled over toward them and picked out the driest ones I could lay my hands on, throwing my blond roommate an appreciative, drunken smile.

"Wilhelmina, are you all right?" He had asked, still scrubbing away.

"Yes." I grunted, plucking an old roll from a dish in the middle of the table and stuffing it in my mouth. "How long 'til sunrise?"

"Not too long." Was his swift reply as he snapped a pair of pantaloons out and placed them before the fire. "Why? Do you have another job?"

"Yes." I sighed and threw my cowl and shirt on the floor. "I have to be up well before sunrise. Do you mind packing me some things for a night out? It's going to be a long one."

He quickly said yes and I collapsed on the bed in full chainmail and boots. That's what I like about Bartlett. Not only does he do the laundry (admittedly at very odd hours) but he doesn't ask a bunch of questions. He knows that what I do isn't really a good thing or even legal, but he's grateful enough for the extra money that he doesn't lecture me about how my soul will burn for all eternity. If he ever dares to, I'll kindly point out his gambling problem.

I'm woken up by Bartlett gently shaking my shoulder and telling me that I have about an hour before the sun rises and he's made me a bath. The second he says "bath" my eyes snap open like a horror movie monster. Bart's covered in splotches of blue and red paint but I'm too tired to poke fun at him about it. With a groan I roll out of bed and stumble my way over towards the little alcove with metal grating on the floor that passes for a bathroom.

There's a decent sized tub filled with water in the middle of the floor and I pull the curtain closed behind me. I shrug off my chainmail and wince as it catches some of my hair before kicking off my boots and pants and then fighting with my undershirt. A dull throb drags my attention to my bandaged hand and I glower at the red and green stains on it.

_"The salve should heal it quickly," he says. What a load._

The water is still warm and I sigh contentedly, trying to push away the pounding headache that I have along with my nausea. Reluctantly, I scrub myself down with some sort of soap that dries out my skin and I peel away the bandages on my hand. The wound is healed, yes, but there's a nasty scab that makes moving my hand slightly difficult. I have to keep myself from picking at the annoying little scab lest it become worse. Instead, I focus on the grainy soap that smells like paint thinner and the way the water turns a rusty color when I start working it into a lather through all the dried blood in my messy, sweaty hair.

After I'm done, I quickly pull on my usual "working" clothes. Shuffling around in the trunk at the foot of my bed, I pull out a black shawl and wrap it around my face before strapping Slicer and my daggers on. I tug on a pair of gloves that aren't stained with blood before snagging the bag Bartlett had prepared for me. "I'll see you tomorrow! There's some extra coin on the table for when Cristof drops off the groceries!" I call up the stairwell before jetting out the door and down the empty street, head pounding like mad.

_Yes. The very last of our money. The emergency funds, in fact!_

Cristof is our perky, merchant neighbor who took a shine to Kiriyama because of all his tattoos. The man has a fetish for tattoos and scowling men, I think, because he was very eager to offer his services and drop off a few groceries at our place once a week when he realized we were busy people and Bartlett was an eccentric hermit. Lately, however, I can't stand to see Cristof because he always asks where Kiriyama is. I can barely keep from punching his lights out when he glowers at me with that overly-pointed face of his, like it's _my_ fault that the pretty tattooed bastard left.

Some old ladies walking down the street to the Chantry shout after me for running by them and I wave my hand over my shoulder, just barely catching myself from making a very rude hand gesture. Unfortunately it starts to rain, so I guess my self-restraint doesn't count for any good karma. I can only curse Garrett Hawke for being right about the weather as my boots slip and slide along the slick cobblestones.

I'm quite literally racing against the sun as I fly down some steps and nearly break my neck trying to avoid an early-riser merchant who all but throws his second-hand shields at me in an attempt to get me to buy one. I have just enough time to yell "Do not want!" before I reach the city gates and stumble to a halt before an agitated, dark-haired mage. I'm drenched in both rain and sweat. "Hm. You took your time getting here," Hawke grunts, shifting the hood of his heavy black cloak out of his eyes so he can glare at me better.

_Ass!_

I look around in the gray drizzle to see Varric with a dapper brown cloak on and Carver wearing one that matches his brother's. I'm not wearing a cloak. I have my cowl and that's it. The icy pinpricks of rain are already soaking through the breathable fabric that drapes over my head and across my shoulders. Damn it. I _knew_ I was forgetting something! "Looks like the gang's all here." I smile, trying to divert attention away from my deplorable state, "Ready for some fun?"

Varric looks over towards the mage. "Hawke?"

He nods, "Let's go." It's not a surprise that he takes the lead, considering he's the unofficial leader of this caravan and all, but it doesn't make much sense to me. If we're going to some place that has a bunch of dangerous creatures, shouldn't either Carver or I hold the front? Maybe even Varric since I remember Isabela always heading our ventures because she can spot traps as well as she can spot an easy lay.

_All rogues can do that, can't they?_

But I don't say any of this aloud. Heaven forbid I question the authority of one Garrett Hawke. I glance over at Carver to see that he's lagging behind, just a few steps ahead of me. I don't really want to talk to the rude swordsman, especially after he bit my head off yesterday, but Varric is at Hawke's elbow, chatting away and earning the occasional rumbling chuckle from the taller man that I at first mistake for thunder. On second thought, I can do without Carver's sass.

Eventually the sun begins to rise, but it's mostly obscured by fat clouds. I'm dying for some sort of warmth as a slight chill settles in the air around us and the wind begins to pick up into a tormenting breeze that would be refreshing on some other occasion. Generally, I like this kind of weather but right now I'm soaked and freezing. I try to distract myself from the cold. The rocky terrain quickly loses my interest, even with the occasional pop of verdant grass that breaks the monotony of dull browns and ashy grays.

I have to admit, I want someone to talk to. Personally, the only contact I've had recently is with faceless employers and a very persistent sex worker who works the corner next to Bartlett's. I greet her every evening with kind words and lame jokes that she laughs politely at. Between her and the sparse conversations I share with Bartlett, there's no one else for me to really talk to in the city. There are other smugglers, sure, but they usually just want to talk business and it's not safe to talk about personal stuff with them.

I clear my throat and cut my eyes to Carver's muscular form swathed in that heavy wool cloak of his. His steps don't even falter. In fact, he doesn't even glance back at me. Maybe he didn't hear me? A frown tugs at my lips and I shift the bag hanging off my shoulders, alleviating a bit of pressure from my irritable scar. "So, your name is Carver?" I ask, picking up my pace to match his. A flash of blue alerts me that I at least have his attention. I continue undaunted, "And you're a swordsman?"

"I thought that much was obvious, yes." He sighs, going back to his fascinating hobby of glaring at his brother's back.

_God, I feel like an unwanted child. Pay attention to me!_

I click my tongue, "Well, I guess with a name like _that_ you pretty much had your life all lined up for you."

"What do you mean?"

I relish the slight inflection of his voice, the indication of his desire to know what I'm talking about. It gives me immense satisfaction to know that I've got his attention and that he's now hanging onto my words. Ducking my head down, I giggle into the back of my hand. Wow, my life is quite pathetic if this is all it takes to thrill me these days. "I suppose you _could_ have been a butcher…" I drawl, swinging my arms lazily.

"A butcher?" Carver guffaws, fixing me with an incredulous look.

"Maybe even a toy-maker. You could make little figurines out of wood!" I clap my hands and smile innocently. "Then you could paint them pretty colors."

"Toy-maker?"

"Or a murderer." I grin. "Oh! You could be The Kirkwall Carver!" His face immediately pinches into a frown after the words leave my mouth and I can't help but throw my head back and laugh hysterically at his reaction. Did he honestly think this was a serious discussion? That I was going to say something profound or life altering? He sure does have a lot to learn. Or he just expects too much out of people.

"Great, another person who thinks they're funny. Just what I need." The swordsman scoffs, crossing his arms and attempting to leave me behind as he lengthens his strides.

_What you_ need _is an attitude adjustment._

I struggle to keep up since his legs are so much longer than mine, but I manage to match his pace. Though, I do have to jog. The corner of his mouth twitches when he glances down to see me jogging at his side. It takes all of my self-restraint to keep from breaking out into a silly grin. "Sweetheart, I don't think I'm funny. I _know_ I'm funny."

He snorts, "Arrogant, too."

"Oh, right. Guess you already fill that role out for the group. My apologies!" I clasp my hands together and start bowing which is quite difficult to do while jogging. "Sorry! Sorry, Ser Carver! I'm simply trying to find my niche in this little tribe."

"Ha ha."

"You love me." I simper and slow down into a casual stride, satisfied with my work. To my complete and utter surprise, he slows down to match me. Now I do have a visible grin on my face as my breathing evens out once more. Score! Now I have someone to talk to! Eyes burn into me from my right and from my front. Confused, I look ahead to see Hawke looking at me before turning his attention back onto Varric. I huff and loll my head to the right and catch Carver's eye. He bites his lower lip nervously and my eyebrows shoot up.

_What's this?_

"Mina." He starts slowly, "Is… Your cowl…"

I sigh.

_Right. Everything goes back to the cowl. I almost forgot about that._

It's the cowl, my scars, and my hair. For a while, all Bartlett would want to talk about was my hair and how "exotic" I looked once he realized it wasn't dye (though it _is_ , he's convinced it's natural since it hasn't come out). When I would give him a dirty look, he would start stuttering out apologies and compliments before waddling up the steps to his studio. I don't think Carver will run away though, if I give him a dirty look. He'll probably stab me. Or trip me, sending me face first into the mud. "Yes?" I ask sweetly with that last thought in mind.

"Is it warm?"

I blink. "Huh?"

A slight blush tints his cheeks and he tosses me an agitated look. "Are you warm? It's quite cold out and… rainy."

Grinning, I punch his arm and laugh, "Aw, Carver! You're so cute!"

"Oh, shut up!" Carver hisses. My shoulders shake with barely contained laughter but I immediately stop when the hot-headed youth pulls off his cloak and tosses it at me. The scratchy fabric hits me square in the face with an audible smack and I'm drenched even more with all the water that was beading on the thick cloak. I sputter and it's his turn to laugh. I glare at him and he offers me a smug smile. "Go on."

I don't have to be told twice. Although it's too big, I'm freezing and he did a wonderful job of heating up the interior of the cloak for which I'm grateful. It's like a nice, toasty oven that smells of metal and musk and I shiver as I realize just how cold I really was. Glancing up at the blue-eyed boy, I smile, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't." He adds that last bit, reminding me of what a shit he can be. I can't help but roll my eyes at how similar he is to my brother.

A deep voice calls out, "Carver. Come up here for a bit."

I'm gifted with one last glance before the swordsman heads towards the front of the group. A certain dwarf drifts back towards me and I'm met with what I've dubbed Varric's signature smirk. He doesn't even seem remotely hung-over as he eyes me as we walk side by side; clear, honey colored eyes examining me critically. "How's the hand?" He asks casually, brushing off some water from his cloak.

Flexing my hand to the point that I hear my leather glove creak, I shake it out and sigh. There's a definite pinch in the middle of my poor hand and the scab scrapes uncomfortably along the interior of the glove. Probably should have re-bandaged the damn thing. I look down at my traveling companion and shrug, "Still a bit stiff."

He nods in understanding and a comfortable silence settles in the air between us. We take a short break, at which point I think my legs might fall off, before we continue. Varric and I make idle chit chat until he suddenly stops and inclines his head forward. I look ahead and see three large, fat bodies skirting around the muddy path. Ugh, _spiders_. And not just normal spiders, _giant_ spiders. Giant, ugly, nasty spiders the size of those ridiculous Smart Cars.

_Shit!_

I'm not taken aback by these things too much, since I had encountered a few in the sewers once before when Isabela was showing me the ropes of smuggling. After that incident, I did my best to avoid the sewers whenever possible. Honestly, I don't even like itty bitty spiders. Anything larger than a pinhead and I'm immediately on edge. "Damn spiders," I growl, tugging my Lord off my back and stalking forward.

Behind me I hear Varric's throaty chuckle and the sounds of him readying his own weapon. Hawke knocks back a small vial of lyrium just as Carver charges the large critters with me hot on his heels. Yes, I hate getting near these things and I have to choke back a girlish scream when one of them rears back and attempts to strike me, but I figure the faster I kill them the less time I have to deal with them.

The battle doesn't last long. Actually, I'd probably just call it a skirmish since the spiders were dispatched in mere minutes thanks to Varric's bolts and Carver's hack-and-slash method.

Hawke and Carver proceed toward the barely visible Dalish camp as I hang back and help Varric pry his bolts out of one of the overgrown spiders. Bracing my foot on the hairy body, I grasp one of the bolts and try wiggling it out. It doesn't budge and I swear colorfully before yanking on it so hard that I nearly pull my arm out of its socket. It comes free and I'm left with a bolt dripping with goo, I grimace and hand it off to the dwarf. He snickers and takes it from me, "Aw, come on Lucky. At least clean it off, first."

"On what? I don't think Carver will appreciate me wiping spider muck onto his pretty cloak."

Varric chuckles as we head toward the camp, "Junior? Nah, I don't think he'd be too mad about that."

_Right._

I snort, "Somehow I doubt that, Shortcake." We sidle up to two elves decked out in leathers and frowns. They're murmuring to each other in some language I can't understand but immediately stop once we get within earshot. Or, what they must think is within earshot because I could hear them before they even went silent. They must have a shining plaque on their wall for hospitality if those glares are anything to go by.

"We're with the humans." Varric says simply with a bit of a shrug. They begrudgingly step aside and we enter the camp where we're met with both curious and hostile looks. The camp consists of several elves and these weird wooden things that look like miniature ships on wheels. A particularly angry elf begins growling some incomprehensible words and I keep so close to Varric that I'm practically getting a piggy-back ride from him. "There they are."

I look up and see Garrett and Carver waiting for us at the bottom of a mountain trail. The relief I feel is overwhelming and I want to yell at Varric to start running before one of these elves decides that it would be a good idea to throw us into that large fire pit of theirs. Funnily enough, the rain stops so there goes the hope that it will put out the fire if they _do_ put us in there.

Hawke nods at us and tells us that we're to meet up with the Keeper's "First" who will lead us to the top of the mountain to drop off the package. Guess he was right about this not being some simple delivery since I'm sure the mountain is crawling with gigantic spiders and who knows what else. With a tense grin, I pull off the cloak and hand it back to Carver who rolls it up before putting it in his pack. All of this is done under the burning scrutiny of the elder Hawke.

_Talk about overprotective._

This time around, both Varric and Carver are front and center with Hawke chatting them up and I can't help but feel like the mage is doing this on purpose. It's like he doesn't want me socializing with his allies even though it was _him_ who sought me out in the first place. It's like high school all over again with me being that kid in the back of the class that people only talk to when they need help solving a difficult problem. The desire to walk up and dead leg the mage is hard to overcome. But I'm blessed with a surprising distraction.

Two big green eyes. That's what I notice first. They're such a pure green that sparkles and glistens like finely polished emeralds as the slender elf who owns them blinks curiously at us. Short black hair divided into little pigtails around her head at even intervals coupled with the intricate tattoos on her face make her look quite eccentric. She startles and blushes as we approach. "Oh! The Keeper must have sent you! I'm Merrill." She beams then blanches, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I've never met your kind before... I don't mean to offend…"

Varric immediately looks amused but Hawke doesn't look so amused as he appraises her critically after introducing himself, like he senses something that he doesn't particularly like. His golden gaze flicks up and down her wafer-thin figure before he rounds on me and addresses my humble self for the first time since chastising me for being late. "Mina, you watch over the girl while Varric, Carver, and I clear out any threats along the way. We're escorting her, so _do not_ allow any harm to come to her."

Then he's marching up the mountain trail with the other men on his heels. I don't even get a say in this. Sure, the whole bodyguard thing is my usual gig, but... Isn't my "pay" the spoils from whatever I happen to kill on this little trip? Yes? Well, how the hell am I supposed to kill anything if they go up ahead and clear everything out? I'm positively fuming and am about to start screaming obscenities when I remember the young elven woman.

_Awkward._

As I look up at the elf I note with a pout that she's a bit taller than me. Her large eyes are now glistening for a reason other than curiosity. I cough into my arm and her eyes fly to me, as if just noticing that I'm still here. Nice. Didn't think it would be that easy to overlook someone in a cowl. "Don't mind him, he wasn't properly socialized as a child," I grin, shifting my weight onto my left leg.

Her eyes dance over my inky black cowl in wonder before fixating on where she guesses my eyes are. "I love your cloak! It makes you look like a cute little blackbird!"

The way her eyes light up and her cheeks flush pale pink, I can't help but chuckle into my sleeve. This makes the pale pink darken and crawl to the tips of her pointed ears. She reminds me of an innocent child but a familiar, unsettling vibe seems to radiate from her. Is this what Hawke sensed? I can't quite put my finger on what it is, though… "I'm Mina." I offer a gloved hand which she takes in both of hers.

Long fingers curl around my palm, gripping it like a lifeline before gently releasing. I notice, with a chuckle, that her nails are colored a pretty shade of red. I'm a sucker for red nail polish. I almost interrupt her to ask how she got them that color and if she could show me how to do it. "Merrill," she introduces herself and bows her head. "Aneth'ara, Mina."

Tapping the hilt of my sword, I incline my head toward the path. "Shall we?"

"Oh, yes!"

"So, _Merrill_ … What do you do in your, uh, clan?"

"I'm the Keeper's First!" She states proudly but I notice a flicker of guilt cross her serene features. "And what do you do, Mina? In the city, I mean. Oh, assuming that's where you came from."

I shrug. "This and that. I _am_ from the city, though."

"What's it like there? Is it much different than here?" Merrill asks excitedly, practically skipping around me as I slosh through the mud.

_It must be the afternoon for her to be so perky. Surely it can't still be morning?_

"Why so interested? Thinking of moving there?"

The elf shoots me a bashful smile. "Yes, actually."

"There aren't many plants." I say slowly, trying to make a mental list of pros and cons of living in the city versus the wilderness. "There are a lot of people so space is limited and there aren't many job opportunities. Well, not many respectable opportunities."

"What about your job? Is it respectable?"

The question is innocent enough but it still feels like she just stuck a blade in my conscience. Gotta love that damn chip on my shoulder. "Not really," I drawl.

"O-Oh." Merrill blushes crimson. "Sorry if that was rude."

"It wasn't." Silence replaces mindless chatter and I'm sure she must be itching to say something else judging by the furtive glances she keeps tossing my way. I sigh, "You get to meet a lot of interesting people in the city."

Merrill perks up immediately at the sound of my voice. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Take Varric and the Hawkes for example."

"Who are they?"

"Uh… The men you just met?" I deadpan.

The elf frowns slightly, "Oh."

"Don't judge the entire batch of apples based on one rotten one. Varric and Carver- the dwarf and the blue-eyed man- are pretty nice. Personally, I favor Varric but don't tell anyone," I whisper conspiratorially which wipes the frown off her face and makes her giggle.

As we walk side by side, I notice what looks like a very large branch on Merrill's back- a staff and it ain't for walkin'. Well, shit. There's the source of that weird feeling. She's a mage. My lips twist into a grimace but I shake it off, she seems like a really sweet girl and she's very pretty. Something catches my foot and I jerk out of my reverie as I stumble. Merrill giggles and I glare at the skeleton on the ground. There's a hole between its eyes.

_Varric._

"We should probably hurry." I say as I pick up my pace. It's almost annoying how the elf seems to glide through thick mud and rocky terrain whilst I stumble and struggle against the steadily increasing incline of the trail. Every now and then the lithe elf tosses me an amused smile over her shoulder as she watches me huff and puff. For a moment I want to pick up a rock and throw it at her.

We trudge through a sea of cracked bones and scorched bodies (which I loot behind the cute elf's back) before we meet up with the trio at a plateau. There's an elven man standing there, speaking with Hawke in urgent tones. From his guarded posture and the look of disgust on his face when Merrill and I walk up, he's obviously been talking trash. I scoff and jerk my head in his direction, "Know this man, Merrill?"

The man in question doesn't give Merrill a chance to speak. Instead he berates her for wanting to leave the clan, then makes it apparent that he's _grateful_ that she's leaving, and bitches about something else. I'm not sure what that something else is, exactly, but he sure did seem quite angry about it. After he finishes his verbal assault, he stomps down the mountainside toward the camp. Wincing, I glance over at the elf to see her eyes glistening yet again. I offer her a warm and extremely uncomfortable grin. "You're _very_ pretty."

"I'm sorry." She sighs, offering the group a sad smile, "My clan isn't usually like this. They're good people. It's just…"

Hawke raises his hand but looks mildly compassionate, "Say no more. We're here on a mission, it doesn't matter if your people are hospitable or not."

Merrill nods her head gravely before gasping at the sight of a bunch of rocks and snapped trees. I don't understand what's so horrible about it aside from it being an eyesore until she explains that _that's_ what remains of the path we were going to take to the mountaintop. Well, shit. "There's another route we can take, though it's slightly more dangerous." She says and begins leading us towards the mouth of a cave, "We must be careful. Many creatures call this place home."

"What kinds of creatures?" I ask curiously as superhero Hawke brushes by me and waltzes right in. We all follow cautiously into the depths of the surprisingly well-lit cave. I'm shocked to find that someone built steps to ensure a safe passage down with a handrail and everything.

"Spiders, mostly." Merrill shrugs.

_Of_ _freakin'_ _course._

"Look out!"

I'm not sure who yells it, but suddenly Carver is covered head to toe in spider silk and at least five spiders ambush us. And if that isn't bad enough, _demons_ pop up and they bring along their undead, skeletal friends as well. I heft Slicer and impale a spider that tries to jump Merrill. She nods her thanks before twirling her staff and zapping a skeleton I failed to notice shuffling over towards me.

My Lord arcs and slices through crunchy spider bodies and brittle, undead bones but I'm not really concentrating on my enemies. I'm distracted by my allies as I watch them all in battle. I usually appraise everyone's tactics, but this is different. Merrill's attacks are clumsy but powerful, so different from Hawke's precise strikes of fire and ice. Varric is a complete professional as he doesn't even lose that cool look on his face under pressure while Carver is all grunts and frowning faces.

They're all so different from each other that I actually laugh and almost get my face clawed off by a demon. _Again_. I jump back as the clawed hand slices through the air before me. Just as I'm about to plunge my sword into its hulking body, the demon is encased in ice. I gawk for a moment before lunging forward and smashing the demon ice sculpture with the pommel of my sword. My lips purse as I look at the demon ice cubes, reluctant to face the mage who I know cast that ice spell.

"You are quite reckless, you know."

The damp air in the cave burns my nostrils with its coldness as I inhale deeply, trying to calm my nerves. Not only is Garrett Hawke intimidating, but he's incredibly infuriating as well. Handsome, haughty, and really annoying. And also, my _boss_ , so... Best to keep my mouth shut. The cave is silent save for the sounds of my allies putting away their weapons and continuing on through the tunnels. Thinking Hawke is with them, I turn around only to come face-to-face with the golden-eyed mage.

_Damn!_

"I know." I say smoothly as I shake the blood and goo off my Lord before fastening him to my back. Shifting from foot to foot, I try to avoid eye contact with the haughty mage but it's like my eyes are drawn to his like magnets.

He frowns at my flippant response. "It's nothing to be proud of."

_Breathe…_

"I know."

Hawke crosses his arms, frown deepening."It shows your lack of discipline- something that is also quite dishonorable."

_Breathe._

"I know."

Somehow, his frown deepens further but I don't think he's nearly as frustrated as I am at this point. "There won't always be someone around to save you from yourself, you know."

_Breathe!_

"I know!" I yell.

Golden eyes glisten and burn, appearing to glow like the flames the mage manipulates so skillfully. He stands there stoically, seemingly unfazed even as my harsh shout continues to echo off the cave walls. His level-headedness shames me and I break eye contact first in favor of glaring at a boulder behind him that looks a lot like a spider. Oh, wait!

Faster than I thought possible, I free a dagger and throw it at the giant spider. The dagger hits it with a loud thunk but the bastard won't go down as it scuttles to and fro in panic. Hawke, at first alarmed by the fact that I just pulled out a dagger on him and chucked it behind him, whirls around and finishes off the skittish creature with a blast of flames. I huff.

_There goes my chance to make him eat his words._

Without even looking at the mage, I begin searching all the corpses for anything useful. I can feel his eyes burning into me with their scorching intensity as I collect a decent amount of coin (Why do spiders eat coins? Do they like shiny things? Oh, wait... Coins don't get digested, do they? Urgh.) and retrieve my dagger from the charred remains of the spider. Hawke says something too low for me to understand and I look up irritably after putting my dagger away. "What was that?"

He frowns at me like I'm being difficult before saying, "Thank you." I grin and he continues, "Now let's go. You're wasting time."

_Argh!_

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," my voice quivers dangerously despite my desire to remain calm, "you're a _blood mage_?"

I don't want to believe it. How can I believe it? This sweet young elf converses with demons and uses the very same dark magic that ruined my life- uh, ruined my _un_ life! I can handle mages as a whole, though I'll keep them at arm's length, but I'm not so sure I can handle _this_. Blood magic? Thinking back to my conversation with her, I try to see if I missed some clue that would indicate her corruption; but I come up with nothing.

_She's not Carrow._

True, but she's like him in the sense that she was drawn by the allure of power. No, that's unfair. I don't know her circumstances. But the way she just sliced her hand open like it was nothing disturbs me. How she got so defensive when Hawke scolded her on the use of blood magic makes my skin crawl. How she looked to me to jump to her defense with those pleading eyes makes my stomach sink. How I promptly looked away and distanced myself from the conversation makes my conscience ache.

"Yes. I am," Merrill replies matter-of-factly.

I inhale shakily as I meet her accusing eyes. "And you don't see anything _wrong_ with that?"

She purses her lips. "No, I don't. The spirit I talk to is benevolent, it never tries to hurt me."

Glancing up ahead, I see Hawke and company standing just beyond the threshold of the barrier Merrill had cleared with her blood magic. The mage's back is to me and I can only see Varric's profile. Carver, though, keeps shooting curious glances at me and Merrill. Hawke notices this and throws us a dirty look over his shoulder before commanding his brother's attention.

With a churn of my stomach, I wonder if I'll end up shunning the girl like Hawke has decided to do. The thought alone is painful when I return my gaze to her pale face and see that she seems to be thinking the same thing. It's not the talking to demons part that bothers me the most. In fact, I couldn't care less if she's _dating_ one. What I really want to know is… is… "Have you ever used it on anyone?" I blurt.

She looks horrified by the idea. "No! Of course not!"

And it's like someone just lifted an elephant off my chest. I exhale loudly, practically deflating into a boneless bag and Merrill's eyebrows knit together. She purses her lips as her wide eyes dart over my face, looking to see if I'm going to lambaste her with as much venom as Garrett Hawke. Straightening my back, I watch her closely, trying to gauge whether or not she just lied to me. "You've never used blood magic to harm anyone?" I ask slowly and she shakes her head furiously. I narrow my eyes, "You're telling me the truth, aren't you?"

She freezes and blinks curiously before replying, "Yes. I'm telling you the truth, Mina." And then I sigh heavily all over again. Oh, thank God! Though I'm immensely relieved that she isn't a Mini-Carrow and I'm glad that I can keep her as a potential friend, I'm still going to keep a close eye on her. Maybe not as close as Anders, though, considering _he_ knows my secret, but I'll always be watching. Always.

_Okay. I just creeped myself out._

"That's good, that's good." I sigh, running a hand over my mouth, "Just make sure you never use your blood magic to harm anyone."

"I _know_ , Mina." Merrill says warily, as if not believing that I'm letting her off the hook so easily, "I won't ever use it to hurt people."

"Yeah. Okay. Good." I cough and dart my eyes up to see that Hawke is now watching us, waiting. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Let's go drop off that amulet to the…"

"Asha'bellanar," Merrill supplies helpfully.

I quirk a brow, "Uh, right. Right."

_This will definitely earn me brownie points with Hawke._

Well, why should I be so worried about what _he_ thinks? It's not as though I'm going to see him after all of this is said and done. I highly doubt that he'll be tripping all over himself to hire me on for any future missions after I was "late" for the job, teased his brother, got distracted on the job, yelled at him, and now sided with the blood mage he's chosen to ostracize. Yup. I'm definitely going to be on his permanent shit list.

Merrill is practically my shadow as we make our way over towards Varric and the Hawkes. I nod as if to silently say "Let's do this" and Garrett frowns before turning on his heel and marching up to a creepy looking shrine perched precariously on a cliff. But of course, it's not so easy as dropping the amulet off and making our merry way back down the mountain, which I had hoped for. Shadow creatures and demons and skeletal warriors emerge from the graves like a living nightmare version of _Thriller_.

Skeletons personally creep me the hell out. They aren't particularly feisty or devious; it's just the way they _move_. It's a sort of quick shuffle that makes my skin crawl because of how unnatural it is. But if I was disturbed by animated skeletons, the shadow warriors will probably haunt my sleep tonight. Those bastards easily evade my every lunge and seem to dissipate once I'm about to land a hit, then they go all "solid" and beat me like a piñata. After several knees to the gut, I decide to leave them for the others and focus on other enemies.

Slicer hacks and slashes skeletons into splinters as Merrill keeps very close to me and shocks the crap out of the elusive shadow people. After the last demon falls, I pat her on the back and she uneasily makes her way around Hawke and toward the shrine. As I scrounge around for loot, I vaguely pay attention to the airy sound of Merrill's voice as it carries over the graveyard. Just as I'm about to pick up an interesting looking dagger with a curved blade, my heart clenches in that hollow place Carrow left me with and I freeze.

_What_ is _this?_

I look to the group to see what appears to be a person emerging from fire and smoke. At first I think it might be Kiriyama (what an anxiety-provoking thought), but then I realize that it's an old woman and not an infuriating man. I can only gawk as her features become more defined; serpentine eyes and white hair that swoops back like two great horns stand out to me the most. Her maroon painted lips pull into a smirk as she fixes her smoldering gaze onto Hawke. "Well, well. It appears that there are still a few people in this world who would keep their end of a bargain. I almost expected to find my amulet being hawked by a merchant!" She laughs wickedly at her own pun.

_This must be the witch!_

I all but forget about the dagger as I pull myself from my kneeling position and carefully walk over. It's like my ears are rushing with blood as I slowly approach. Mouths move, expressions are pulled, stances shift, but I can only hear the pounding of my own blood as I stare at the woman. It appears that all of her attention is focused on Hawke as she moves her mouth carefully around her words. I'm a bit confused when she turns to briefly address a bashful Merrill, though.

The witch turns to go but pauses a moment to fix me with a curious look. Blood ceases to pound in my ears and my hearing clears blissfully for me to catch her words. Her voice is low and mysterious as she speaks to me and I find myself hanging off of her words like a smitten fool. The feeling of strong energy crackles through the air and bothers me, reminds me of a certain blood mage. "Ah." She smiles, "And what is this? A lost soul, I see."

My heart clenches but I make myself smile shakily, "You have _no_ idea."

The witch smirks, golden eyes twinkling, "Oh, I'm sure I have an idea." She tilts her head in my direction and I feel energy tickle along the length of my body. "Be sure of who your true enemies are before you strike, child of stolen blood and flesh."

I inhale sharply as the energy dissipates with a quick zap to my senses. Exactly what does that mean? Does she…? No, she couldn't possibly know what I've been through- what I _am_. Hell, I'm not even really sure about what I am, so it would be impossible for her to know. But that intelligent glimmer in those bright yellow eyes says otherwise. Those eyes seem to see everything.

Disconcerted, I fall back on my humor to mask my unease. I cross my arms and cock my head before plastering a smirk onto my face. It's a struggle to appear aloof under her gaze. She makes me feel as if I'm standing naked in the middle of Kirkwall's notoriously crowded markets. "Wow!" I chuckle breathlessly, "Care to tell me how many children I'll have? Or who my future spouse will be? Keep in mind, though, that I have no intention to ever marry, so no matter what I'll dismiss you as a fraud."

The witch cackles, "Such an evasive young thing! You remind me of an elf I once knew- her fate was dark as well."

_That does not sound good. Not at all._

I gulp audibly and she laughs once more but not once does she take her eyes off of me and not once does that smile ever reach those damnable eyes. The urge to run away screaming is one that I almost give in to. Maybe I'll settle for peeing my pants or shitting myself? She sort of looks like the type of person who could easily sneak into your house at night and smother you with a pillow without even batting an eye. And I think I might have ticked her off a bit with my smart mouth.

_Good job, Mina. Keep that list of enemies growing!_

This "Asha'bellanar" offers me one last smirk before turning her attention back onto Hawke, "The time has come for me to leave. My thanks…" she eyes him carefully, "and my sympathy."

I can only watch as the cryptic woman glows with the burning light of a flame before turning into an enormous dragon and flying away. Wait… _What_? Did someone slip me some sort of hallucinogenic? Am I still really hung-over from last night? The great beast's muscular form is covered in maroon scales that glisten in the sunlight and the muscles on its- no, _her_ \- back flex with each motion of her large wings. "Holy _shit_! Did she just turn into a dragon?" I gape, eyes bugging out as I stare after the shapeshifter as her form slowly becomes smaller and smaller as she flies further away.

No one answers and I look back to see everyone staring after the dragon as well. A bit shell-shocked, I numbly walk back towards the piles of corpses and snag the dagger I had been eyeing. My mind is in turmoil as I go over the strange woman's words over and over again until they're burned into my brain. The weight of the blade seems much greater than it should be as I realize that everyone else heard what she said to me as well.

_Oh… Shit._

"Time to go home!" I announce a little too loudly.

"Agreed." Hawke's deep voice comes from behind me and I almost scream. I half expect to feel his breath on my neck but remember that I'm still wearing my cowl. The mage walks by me and catches my eye. The moment seems to last forever as his golden gaze pierces through me like a harpoon and turns me to stone. There's suspicion there- it's so blatantly obvious that I'm tempted to turn around and jump off the mountain. Gosh, I have to walk all the way back to _Kirkwall_ with him!

Carver and Varric follow Garrett dutifully, leaving me with a contemplative Merrill. She runs her thin fingers over her pink lips, her pale brow puckers in concentration as she walks up to my side. The elf seems anxious about something and I assume it's about the whole blood magic thing and she's just as nervous about traveling with Hawke as I am. Hooking my arm through hers, I lead her after the troupe of men and around the many bodies of our fallen enemies. "What's wrong, Merrill?" I ask sweetly, trying to overcome my own anxiety.

"I wonder what Asha'bellanar meant when she said I have a dark path ahead of me." She sighs, "Oh, I'm so nervous! I don't think I'll be able to travel around in the dark anymore!"

I choke back a laugh, "Well, my fortune doesn't seem any better. Wanna trade?"

Merrill giggles and waves me off, "Don't be silly, Mina! It doesn't work that way."

"Right, silly me," I roll my eyes but can't help smiling at her. "Are you excited about returning home after all of this adventuring?"

Her smile falters and her face loses a bit of color. "Oh, I'm not returning to the camp. I'm going to Kirkwall… with you."

_With me?_

"Uh…"

"I have my reasons for wanting to move to Kirkwall. It will be better for me there. I can help out my clan and continue my research on the Eluvian." Merrill nods with conviction, a fire burning in her eyes.

Oh. Right. Thank goodness I didn't say that I thought she was coming on a bit strong! This thought makes me snort and Merrill looks offended. Gosh, she's a sensitive thing like Carver; only she gets teary eyed and he starts flexing his muscles. Oh, and she uses blood magic. Best keep the blood mage happy. I don't want to be the reason for her going psycho.

I sigh and pat her arm, "I'm not laughing at you, darling. I just thought of something funny."

"Really?" She brightens, "What?"

_Uh…_

"I was… _thinking_ … about… how that cloud looks like a butterfly!" I point at a random cloud and wince when I realize it's nothing but a big puff ball.

The big-eyed elf looks in the direction I'm pointing and gasps, "Oh! Ah... You're right."

She's a bit spaced out, isn't she? Sweet and dangerous, but spaced out. Or, judging by her forced smile, she's humoring me and thinks I'm a fool. She sort of reminds me of Chey with that whole pernicious air that's often overlooked because of her lovable persona. We spot the men and keep a safe distance away as we head down the mountain. Judging by the warm glow of the sun, I can only guess that it's late in the afternoon. I groan. We're going to have to set up camp on the way home just like Hawke predicted. Damn him!

Once we reach the camp, the Keeper- an older woman with a wizened look about her- thanks us for keeping Merrill safe and says a rather awkward farewell to the young elf who comes off a bit like a pouty teenager in the conversation. When she's finished saying goodbye, the young elven mage grabs her pre-packed things, hooks her arm through mine like I did earlier, and sets off towards the far right path leading out of the camp. "Merrill, stop," I sigh.

"No! You don't understand. The Keeper…" She sighs, "She just makes me feel so guilty when all I'm trying to do is help my clan. I'm trying to restore our history! Why can't she understand that?"

I'm embarrassed for her as I say, "That's not what I meant… We're going the wrong way." The pale elf turns a lovely shade of red and I turn my head away so she can't see the big grin on my face. Immediately, she redirects our course and stomps back through the camp, dragging me with her. When we finally catch up with the others (who politely decided to continue on without us) Varric is grinning like a madman and Carver has a bit of a smirk on his face. I shoot Varric a faux look of contempt, "Oh, behave."

He chortles and saunters up ahead of the group with Carver and Hawke. Next to me, Merrill is deep in thought which means that even though I have a companion, I'm going to be neglected. My mind immediately flies to the witch's words and I shudder. "Stolen flesh and blood?" Why do I get a feeling that she isn't talking about me being taken from another realm or dimension or whatever?

Gnawing on my lip, I tug at my cowl and try not to think about it. Of course that doesn't work. The thing the witch said about my enemies makes me paranoid and I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts that it takes me a minute to realize that we've stopped in a little clearing near some trees and the sun has almost set. "This way, Mina." Merrill tugs me away from where the others are making camp. "We'll sleep here for the night."

Varric volunteers to take first watch as he settles on a rotting log. Hawke easily makes a fire with his magic as Carver sets up their tent. The younger man keeps shooting me glances as I wander along the sparse tree-line, touching bark like it's gold. It's been so long since I've seen trees, aside from the one in the city Alienage- but when I went there the city elves kept looking at me like I was going to eat their children. Don't blame them, really. If I were them, I wouldn't trust humans either considering they're treated like second-class citizens. The elves, I mean.

The ground is cold and wet, not ideal for sleeping on at all. When I open my bag I find a heavy blanket, some jerky, a waterskin, and my best small clothes which Isabela bought to "tempt" me with. That's definitely the last time I ask Bartlett to pack me an overnight bag. What the hell does he think I do for a living? I thought I made it perfectly clear that I'm a _smuggler_ and not a  _sex worker_. No wonder he always looked so damn flustered whenever I would come back, worn out from a job. There are no weapons, no clothes that are adequate for the weather, and nothing for me to try and make a tent out of.

_That stupid_ _barnacle_ _! ... Oh, God. What am I, ten?_

With a sigh, I flick out my blanket and lay it on the driest patch of ground that I can find. Merrill looks over from where she's expertly pitched her tent and cocks her head to the side. She walks over and rubs her hands together before breathing on them, "It's a bit chilly to be sleeping outside."

"Ya don't say," I drawl as I flop onto my back and wince as the ground beneath my head squelches with moisture.

"You'll catch sick. Humans aren't very hearty, you know."

I furrow my brow as I ball up my bag and put it under my head, "I'll be fine, Merrill. Get some rest." I turn my face to the starry sky and look at the crescent moon; it's like someone threw glitter into the air. The sky is so beautiful here and I almost feel relaxed except that I keep thinking a bear might lumber over and abduct me. Also, I can see an agitated elf out of my peripheral vision; her anxious movements are putting me on edge.

Merrill stands there nervously, shifting from foot to foot as she looks from my makeshift pillow to my blanket, to me, over and over again before finally blurting, "Come sleep in my tent!"

Over by the fire, in Camp Jerkwad, Varric looks over. I know it's him because of the way those honey eyes burn into me as well as the way his signature smirk seems to poke annoyingly at the back of my head. He must enjoy pairing me up with people or just plain teasing me because I stupidly look over and he wiggles his eyebrows. Head snapping back to Merrill, I see that she's about to explode from suspense. I look over to her tent.

_It looks decent. Better than risking abduction._

But this must be a test. She probably doesn't completely believe that I'm "fine" with her being a blood mage and decided to test me. And I'm not totally fine with it, either. So what better way to see if someone is comfortable with you than sharing a small place to sleep in a closed-off tent where no one can see what's being done inside? My common sense and paranoia scream at me not to do it. I shrug and stand up. "Yeah, sure."

"Good! I have a lot of room for you. Oh, not that you would take up a lot of room! You're like a miniature version of a human without being a dwarf."

My eyebrow twitches. "Thank you. That's so sweet." I can only watch as she rolls up my blanket and snatches up my bag before skipping over towards her tent. Very lively, that one. She's just a ball of energy and social awkwardness. My quiet laughter almost turns into a shrill scream as a broad hand claps down on my shoulder. Whirling around, I'm horrified to find Hawke. Why is it  _always_ him?

"Someone needs to put a damn bell on you!" I gasp, heart beating like a drum.

Is he a mage or a rogue? I didn't even hear the bastard sneak up on me! He just watches me for a moment and I think I catch a glimmer of amusement in his fiery eyes before he extends a closed fist. Oh, nice. He's going to bop me on the head for all of my little mistakes on this job. Can't rightly blame him, though. Professionalism isn't exactly my forte, but that's never been a problem before with the surly types I've worked with. Because _they_ weren't professionals, either. "Open your hand," Hawke orders.

_Oh God, is he going to smack my hand with a ruler?_

I'd rather he just hit me with his fist than whip my hand like some old-school teacher. Heck, I got enough beatings with wooden objects (e.g., brooms, spoons, and _rulers_ ) from my hardcore old-school grandmother to last me several lifetimes. What can I say? I was a difficult child. But I'm getting distracted, because Hawke raises one heavy eyebrow and I can't help but gulp and wince. I do as he says and a golden coin is dropped into my palm. I gape.

"It's your take from the job." And with that, he turns on his heel and glides back over towards his warm campfire and his smirking, dwarven companion. Oh, and his frowning brother who glares at the mage before ducking into their shared tent. Yeesh, I'd hate to be sleeping in there when they start their inevitable arguing.

"Mina! I set up a little bed for you!" Merrill calls from the opening of her tent.

With a smile, I pocket the sovereign and can't help but laugh at the feeling of its weight in my purse. I head over towards the smiling elf and she opens the tent flap wider so I can crawl inside. It's surprisingly warm in the little tent and as I pull off my boots I see that Merrill has made the equivalent of a makeshift pet bed for me with a cushion made of balled-up blankets. The little mage smiles happily in the dim moonlight as she turns her back to me and pulls a sheet up over her shoulders.

"Goodnight, Mina!"

I sigh as I curl up on the cushion, "Night, Merrill."


	17. Kiriyama: 04. Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More disturbing stuff and totally skippable until... the very end of the chapter. Again, this is the dullest thing you'll ever read lmao.

**Kiriyama: 04. Reaper**

I dab at my nose with a handkerchief, wiping away the trickle of blood there. Ever since the ritual my nose, eyes, and ears have all dripped with blood. Sometimes I would even cough up red fluid, but that stopped after about a couple of days. Carrow said that it was to be expected since my "mortal form" had nearly been compromised. What does that mean? I don't know since Carrow only ever scoffs derisively when asked for clarification on _anything_. But the flow of blood has subsided greatly since the day of the ritual and its almost completely stopped.

"We need mages," he murmurs distractedly as he thumbs through a heavy tome. "We need _more_ magic and _less_ sacrifices. You will need to teleport us to the Circle. We will do it tonight. We cannot afford to waste any more time, my friend."

I don't know why I'm still here.

"We shall bring Mina along. She will prove to be most helpful in swaying the mages to come along with us."

Right. _That's_ why. Carrow has this deep fascination with Mina that I think stems from him being able to influence her more than he can me. Control seems to really be his favorite thing in the world. Mina is all he talks about most days when he isn't brooding over our last failed attempt at summoning a person. He still blames my "bad blood" for the debacle and I still blame myself for all of those senseless deaths. Despite his jabs, though, I stay if only to deter him from going after her.

I've also been coming up empty with regard to any of the lunatic's research. Before I can write him off and _bump_ him off, I need to find something so that I don't return to Mina empty-handed. Answers are what I need and I have _nothing_. If anything, I just have the confirmation that a bunch of people had to die for us to be summoned... Which obviously could've been inferred by a moron when Mina and I awoke in the dungeon our very first day in this world.

Irritated, I snap, "No. She's busy."

He sighs exaggeratedly, "You _always_ say that! 'She's busy, she's busy, she's busy'! What could she _possibly_ be doing that is more important than this?"

His pale eyes glow angrily in the dimly lit room and I move to start a fire. I can feel those blue eyes stabbing into me as I calmly rearrange the timber in the hearth. Lately the blond bastard has been more impatient and unpredictable. He has these raging mood swings where he either sulks in the study or storms about the manor, throwing things and setting rats on fire. But it's so simple for me to calm him down; he's so much like a child and being around Mina gave me enough experience with such things... Okay, that sounds bad.

"She's trying to be independent. You know how she is; Mina is always trying to prove something to someone," I lie but he gobbles it right up with a hearty laugh.

"Oh, she's ever so droll! There is a lot of spirit in that one," he chuckles. "Quite humorous! I cannot wait to use her essence and see what it produces!"

I'm banking on her "essence" producing nothing like mine. Hopefully she'll just get a massive headache and that will be that. But I _do_ admit that a small part of me wants something to happen. Carrow closes his book and swipes up his traveling cloak which he wraps around his slight form. He looks at me expectantly and I rise from my squatting position by the fire. I'm rewarded with a giddy smile as he grips my forearm with his cold hand and I take us away. We appear on a grassy knoll in front of a massive tower. Water sloshes behind us and I glance back to see a dock.

"And here we are." The mage smiles wickedly. "I must refrain from annihilating this blasted prison. Though, I admit it is terribly tempting." He closes his eyes tightly and sighs, "Another time, another time."

"Let's go," I grunt, trekking through the knee-high grass that sparkles with moonlight. He hums in agreement and I hear his robes swishing through the reeds and flowers. I see two armed men and duck down before they can spot me. Holding up a hand, I signal to Carrow that there are guards up ahead. He quirks a brow and rolls his eyes before dropping to his knees and crawling over towards me.

"There won't be too many guards since the Circle is still rebuilding. Most of the mages were killed during the uprising, therefore not a lot of guards are currently needed to supervise such a small number." The mage frowns and taps his chin as one of the guards yawns. "They will be _quite_ annoying, though," he murmurs. "Templars are self-righteous creatures who believe they are doing the work of the Maker. Ha! As if these lowly pigs could possibly have the Maker's hand?"

I jump to cut off his rant before he gives me yet another speech on how all Templars must die and how the Chantry should be wiped from the world for spewing propaganda against mages. I've learned that Carrow doesn't care much for religion because he doesn't trust some "nonexistent, mage-hating deity" with his fate. So if I don't stop him now, we'll be here for ages. Trust me on that one.

"What should we do?"

An evil grin twists his lips. "I will serve as a distraction. Wait a while until more guards come pouring out onto the grounds before you enter the tower. Find me five mages in good health; you should be able to feel a slight tickle of energy from them. It's a lot like picking out a good cow to take to slaughter, only you needn't check their eyes." He chuckles to himself before standing. "Just a slight tickle, dear man. If you feel little shocks, then they're too volatile. But if you feel nothing at all then they will be utterly useless. Once you find them, teleport outside and I will meet you. Understand?"

I nod gravely, already knowing what he means about "feeling" magic since it's so easy to feel his. This _is_ like taking cows to slaughter. These people will think I'm here to free them but I'm just the devil in disguise. Suddenly, Carrow whistles and launches a large fireball at the men. They barely have enough time to dodge as the projectile explodes upon impact with the door, leaving a large scorch mark on the dark wood. The air fills with harsh shouts and screams as the men call out for backup. I watch Carrow dance away and around the back of the massive tower whilst cackling as a small mob follows.

Here's my chance.

Low to the ground, I race up to the double doors; taking the stone steps two at a time before sliding through the open doorway. I keep to the shadows and avoid any well-lit corridors and passing guards. They all seem on edge; postures erect and eyes shifty. The place has the feel of a prison with its stone walls and stone floors. Everything about this tower is cold and impersonal from its tame paintings of landscapes that these people can never hope to see in real life to its boring tapestries depicting bland castles that seem to be made in bulk since they're on every floor.

A few doors are wide open and the rooms are completely deserted. I come across a large wooden door and slip inside. Row after row of beds fill the room with most of them being empty. They're all uniform and stiff looking. I freeze, though, when one of the mages stirs and rises into a sitting position. My breath catches in my throat as the person gets out of bed and drags themselves to the washroom. I'm perfectly still as that same person returns to bed a while later; adjusting under their blankets with a contented sigh.

I swallow hard. "Hello?"

The person jerks and jolts out of bed, scrambling in a tangle of blankets to free their shaking limbs. I can barely make out the figure of a young boy in the dimming light of a candle stub sitting atop a simple desk. "Who's there?" He whispers.

"I'm Steven. Who are you?"

"R-Richard. Why are you dressed like that? Is this a dream? A-Are you a demon?" His voice becomes shrill at the end of his question and causes a few more people to stir awake.

With a frown, I look down at my short-sleeved tunic and pants. I'm not in Templar armor nor am I in robes like all of the curious, groggy mages that blink at me. Great, these people are already on edge. How am I supposed to get them to come with me willingly? I can only hope that the desire to escape makes them desperate enough to overlook just how suspicious this situation is.

Children. I'm abducting _children_. I'm abducting children so that Carrow can kill them so that he can have himself another... thrall. And I'm going to let him, all to satisfy my curiosity about my and Mina's origins. No matter what philosophical slant I take, this isn't right. But then I think about how Carrow said he controls mine and Mina's "life force" and I can squash my self-hatred long enough to shake my head and say, "I'm not a demon. I'm here to help."

"Help?" Another older boy asks.

I dig deep. How low am I willing to lower myself? "Yes. A friend of mine is distracting the Templars while I get you boys out of here."

Carrow didn't say anything about gender and I hope he doesn't throw a fit when I return with nothing but boys. Little kids who will never get the chance to grow up and live their lives. Little boys who think that they're being given the opportunity of a lifetime.

"You're getting us out?" The same older boy asks skeptically and I nod.

"Oh! I can't wait to see mama!" A little boy cries and a few others murmur excitedly in agreement.

Only five. He said five and they have to "tickle" with energy. Nothing more, nothing less and if I fail… He'll what? Kill me? Fine. But if I'm gone, if he's unhappy, then that means he'll go badgering Mina and he'll hurt her and use her. He'll make her do this and... I'm not sure if she could, despite all of her ridiculous bravado. She can't stomach situations like this. She cried when she killed a _highwayman_.

I inhale deeply and on the exhale I confess, "I can only take five of you."

They're silent for a moment before the younger boys start crying and the older boys begin to argue. The boy, Richard, stumbles up to me with his cheeks glistening with tears. Wide brown eyes blink up through the darkness at me as he grabs the hem of my tunic. "Please, take me with you!"

I grasp his bare hand in mine and brace myself. I feel nothing. Though I know it will break his heart right now, he doesn't know how lucky he really is. I shake my head and he crumples to the floor, shaking with sobs. All of this noise is sure to draw attention, so I quickly go to every child and touch hands, arms, faces. Only three are usable and they're the oldest. Two of them are volatile and shocked me like static electricity when I got within mere inches of them; they're young, not even twelve. I swear and usher the two together with the other three. Footsteps pound down the corridor outside.

"Please!"

Ignoring them, I order the five boys to hold hands and just as I grab one of them the door is busted open and we're whisked away to the grounds with the Templar's panicked shout in our ears. The boys gasp in shock and wonder as I look around anxiously for any sign of Carrow. All around us is burnt grass with nothing but eerily calm water beyond that. A cold hand grips the back of my neck and I refrain from jumping.

"You certainly took your time, didn't you? I had to slay a Templar!" The mage hisses though he doesn't sound remorseful, "Now, let us go!"

By the time we appear in the manor, I feel as though my brain is fried and my head is about to crack open. Carrow ushers the confused boys into a cell as I stumble up the steps. Warmth trails down my cheeks and I think I must be crying, but when I reach a hand up to wipe my face my hand comes back with a red smear. My nose burns and tickles and I find that it's bleeding too; as are my ears. I guess I just undid all of my recovering. It's the least that deserve.

"Oh, dear," a voice sighs from behind me. "It appears you've overextended yourself yet again. Fret not, I'll get you all sorted out. Though, I must tell you that I _cannot_ keep doing this for you. In time, you must learn to maintain yourself."

A cold sheet falls over me and I feel like new. He really does hold my life in his hands, doesn't he? I wipe away the blood as best as I can while watching the blond mage prepare a basin of water for me to wash myself off. He has a thing about cleanliness, I've noticed. Like Mina, he always has to be clean and he's always very irritable when he gets dirty… Well, he doesn't get angry when he's covered in the blood of innocents for the "greater good".

"When are we doing the ritual?" I ask, splashing the cool water on my face. I take my time rubbing the blood from my eyes as I squeeze them shut. The water is rust colored by the time I get to my ears and Carrow makes a little noise of displeasure before handing me a clean rag. Taking it from him, I lean against the table and wipe my face off. He stares and I nod my head towards him, silently encouraging him to answer my question.

"Let's see…" he hums as he brushes some nonexistent lint from his cloak, "I haven't felt Mina use her ability in quite some time, so it would be safe for us to do the ritual whenever it pleases us. The sooner the better, I say. We shall do it tonight!"

Everything goes by in a blur as I emotionally distance myself from the situation. The dismembering ceremony is swift and as brutal as the last, though I think Carrow is merciful this time around to the little mages since not one of them breaks out of his spell until he slices his palm open and uncorks Mina's shimmering essence. Then the screams start and I hear a deafening roar that sets my teeth on edge. That couldn't possibly be one of the children, could it?

I don't get to see what happens next as an explosion of light fills the dungeon and prickles my skin with foreign energy. The white light fades away to reveal a tall youth with a stocky build curled up in the middle of the floor. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. All this time I expected for this to result in nothing that I didn't prepare myself for "success." My heart races at this development. _This_ is how it started for me and Mina. I can only wonder if the boy came from the same place we came from.

I'm anxious to ask this, but then I notice something odd about the newcomer. His skin is an ashy gray and inky black hair curls along his pale, sweaty brow. The boy is still. His chest doesn't rise or fall and his eyelids don't flutter to signal that he's asleep. I swallow hard as realization dawns on me.

"Now, this is strange," the mage murmurs as he strokes his chin, circling the boy.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask, catching Carrow's blue eyes. "Is he...?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Carrow dramatically throws his hands in the air. "He's _dead_!"

Last time nothing happened and this time we summon a dead person? But wasn't Mina dead when she was brought over? Well, she wasn't really _dead_ when she arrived if I understood Carrow's explanation of it. She was dead when she was summoned but was brought back to life by the mage's magic. I wonder if he'll do it again. My lips twitch and I force myself to glare at the corpse. "Can't you do anything for him?"

"Of course I can! I researched all possible outcomes for the ritual and I know just what to do."

I look over at Carrow to find him carefully dragging the blade along his other uncut palm, lips moving quickly as he chants something unintelligible. He kneels next to the boy and smears his blood over the boy's face; down his cheeks, over his eyes and along his mouth before leaving a large splotch on his chest with what is left of Mina's essence. At first I think that this will do nothing, but then color seems to flood through the boy. His skin flushes with a peachy tone spotted with brown freckles, his hair lightens to a woodsy brown and then he stirs and gasps for air.

"Welcome." Carrow smiles, eyes raking over the heaving boy critically. "It is so _wonderful_ for you to join us, my boy."

The boy opens his eyes and I'm struck dumb. They're such a dark shade of brown that ripples with strong emotions of confusion and trepidation. Around the outer rim of the iris, the brown appears to be slightly red like mahogany but darkens to a rich chocolate color towards the pupil until it looks almost black. I've seen this color before and it makes me feel sick when I realize exactly where I've seen such eyes. Those eyes lock with mine and the confusion in their depths dulls to nothing before flaring with shock and intense loathing.

"What is your name, child?" Carrow asks with a knowing smile.

Those dark eyes dart over towards the mage and narrow. "Who're you? It's only polite to give your first name before asking someone for theirs." The slight southern twang in his voice isn't as strong as hers nor is it as pleasant sounding. He seems to be trying to smother the accent like it embarrasses him while she embraces it and sometimes exaggerates it to suit her needs. But the accent is still there in his voice. It's still there and it makes my stomach clench.

"Lord Dermot Carrow IV."

The boy nods slowly. "I'm Michael Adler."

My heartbeat slows down and I begin to breathe again. Michael Adler. Not Michael Solis. But the resemblance between the two is uncanny from the untamable hair to the large dark eyes and cherubic features. Carrow tugs off his traveling cloak and drapes it over Michael who quickly pulls it on and keeps it closed with a trembling fist. His eyes haven't left me, I notice. They seem to burn me as he stands to his full height to tower over the mage.

Carrow gestures towards me. "This is-"

"I know who _he_ is," Michael spits as he takes a threatening step forward. "I have a question for you, scumbag. What did you do to my sister? Is _this_ where you took her?"

Wide eyed, I look over at the deranged mage. A large smile pulls at his cracked lips as his pale blue eyes glimmer. He gestures between me and the boy. Michael Adler. Mina's little brother. It never crossed my mind that they could have different surnames. "I'm sure you two must have quite a lot to talk about. I'll be upstairs in the study if you need me."


	18. Tongue Tied

**14\. Tongue Tied**

"Time to wake up!" A soft voice sings. I groan and stretch out, allowing my cramped muscles and joints to creak and pop. Body rigid and lengthened out, I crack open my eyes to find that I'm in a green room. Oh, no. Never mind. Merrill just has her face not an inch away from mine. I collapse into boneless-ness across the cushion as I match her intense gaze. Warm breath tickles across my cheeks as I quirk a brow.

_It's like living with a cat again._

"Merrill?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind?"

"Oh, no. I don't mind."

We continue to stare at each other for a few more moments before I raise my other eyebrow. She smiles brightly. I sigh, "Please move."

Blood rushes to her cheeks as she rocks back on her heels, giving me space. Sitting up, I glance at her as I adjust my cowl and see that she looks absolutely mortified. The little elf appears to be quietly reprimanding herself as she rolls up her blankets into tight bundles before shoving them into her bag. I follow her lead and help her take down the tent; though, I'm admittedly no help as I nearly take out poor Merrill's eye with a pole and she politely tells me that she can do it herself.

"Hey, Merrill?"

"Yes?" She asks, refusing to make eye contact.

_Oh, great. I've embarrassed her._

I smile and continue, "Weren't we supposed to take turns keeping watch?"

She slings her bag across her shoulder and frowns. Green eyes dart over toward the other camp and narrow. I follow her gaze to where Hawke and Varric are talking to each other in hushed tones by a dying fire. The Hawke tent is still up, so I can only assume that Carver is still asleep since the sun hasn't even completely risen yet. My eyes drag over toward my companion. "I guess Hawke took the last shift since Varric took first." I shrug. "I'm betting Carver is still asleep because he took second watch. What gentlemen."

Merrill's chest rises and falls heavily as she huffs before fixing me with her best neutral face; brow puckered and lower lip pouted out in frustration. Needless to say, I don't buy it. Merrill glances at me, "No one woke me up. I only awoke when I heard voices… I suppose they forgot about us."

_Yeah, right._

That's a lie and we both know it. Garrett Hawke just didn't trust us enough to have us strangers skulking about the camp while everyone else was asleep and vulnerable. He didn't want the blood mage to kill them all in their sleep or the impoverished smuggler to steal off into the night with all their money. Really, he probably thought we would both murder him in his sleep. The thought never crossed my mind before, but now the seed has been planted. Hawke must really want me to give him a reason _not_ to trust me.

A sweet scent cuts through the damp air and a little yellow thing is practically shoved into my hand. It feels rough even through my glove and it looks a lot like dried mango. Doubt it, though. Looking up with a question on my tongue, I see Merrill happily munching away at something similar to what I have; though hers is slightly darker around the edges.

My stomach growls angrily and I cautiously bite a little piece off. A tart, sort of acidic flavor explodes on the tip of my tongue followed by smooth, almost overpowering sweetness. It's almost enough to make me gag, but beggars can't be choosers. With the dried thing in my mouth, I dig through my bag and produce my jerky and waterskin. "Here," I mumble, extending the items toward her.

"Thank you."

We eat and drink in silence, watching as the men slowly put away their things just as the sun begins to rise and bathe everything in a pale light. The walk back to Kirkwall is mostly silent. Everyone seems to be consumed with their own thoughts and the only conversation I have is when I promise Merrill that I'll visit her after she's settled into city life. We part ways without much ado and I'm a bit disappointed when all Varric does is wave casually at me before leading the Hawkes to The Hanged Man.

I tiredly walk back to Bartlett's and freeze when I get there. The door's lock is busted. How long has it been since I've seen Elin? One? Two days at the most? That's more than enough time for him to get his act together and plan an attack. Inhaling sharply, I pull out a dagger and push the door in. That hinge needs to be oiled because the door squeaks loudly in protest and completely ruins my attempt at being sneaky.

"Where have you been?"

The urge to scream is stifled as soon as I recognize that sultry voice. The shutters are closed and there isn't nearly enough sunlight to illuminate the room. Frowning, I step inside and light a candle. Lying on my bed with her arms behind her head and her ankles crossed is Isabela. I shoot her a dirty look and close the door before going over and starting up the fireplace. "I think you got the script flipped. _I'm_ the one who's supposed to ask that." I cross my arms and lean against the wall by the roaring fire.

The pirate sighs and sits up, "More private business. You know how that goes."

Of course. I can never get a straight answer out of the sneaky woman. I know that I have my secrets as well and that I shouldn't push her, but I can't help but get angry and feel a bit hurt when she evades my questions and pretends that she's been here all along. Afraid of pushing her away, I gesture toward her feet, "If you must sit on my bed, please remove your shoes."

She grins and stands up, "If you wanted me out of my clothes, you could've just said so."

"I was out on a job," I evade and she huffs, "I'm sure you know Varric Tethras? Well, he introduced me to Garrett Hawke who employed me."

"Hmm, _Hawke_. I've heard that name before. Stirred up some trouble as a mercenary but nobody could touch him because of Meeran." Is nods approvingly. "Nice job. Oh, and speaking of _jobs_ ; how did that one go with Elin? Did he pay you in full? That sure was a lot of coin for one import."

_Oh, he tried to pay me in full, all right._

"Right. About that…"

She holds up a hand, "Don't tell me: he nitpicked the whole thing and refused to pay you the entire amount. That bastard sure likes to pull stunts like that." Isabela rolls her eyes and shakes her head before sashaying toward a bag at the door and throwing it onto Kiriyama's bed. "I brought you some goodies, by the way."

I snort and move around to sit at the table, "No, actually. The whole thing was a setup and he tried to have me killed."

Isabela doesn't explode with outrage or shock. Instead, she goes completely still and stares at me in the typical level-headed rogue fashion. Her face is blank and her eyes cease to shimmer with humor, her posture is rigid as she walks over and sits on the table before me. Smoldering brown eyes rake over me a few times as if looking for new wounds before finally speaking in a deadly calm voice, "Were you hurt?"

"I got a bit roughed up…" I cough, "got an arrow through the shoulder. No big deal."

_The big deal was what happened afterward._

But I'll never tell her that. Isabela has a tendency to lecture me whenever I do something wrong. She's lectured me about "swinging" my sword around "like it's a toy," for being too loud when I run, and for having piss poor seduction techniques. Funnily enough, she won't lecture anyone else but me. Lucky, lucky me. I guess it's because I walk about like I have a death wish. I kinda do…

Brown eyes turn to slits, "No big deal? Now I can understand why Kiriyama was always so frustrated with you." I open my mouth to express my disdain but she talks over me, "You should have taken someone with you! You and Doug seem to get on well."

I scoff on reflex at the name, " _Doug_? The same Doug who was repeatedly sent to jail because he was caught breaking into people's houses?" She nods and I throw my hands up, "The man can't sneak to save his life! He's about as noisy as they come! He would only be good as a distraction and _even then_ I wouldn't have him because I'd have to save his clumsy ass!"

"Oh, but I thought you liked him? He's so _muscular_ and dashing; just like you like 'em!"

Yes, Douglas is a very handsome man and I'll be the first to admit it. But he's also the biggest walking stereotype I've ever met. He's so gorgeous that you'll feel like _dying_ , but he's so stupid that you'll wonder how he _hasn't_ died yet. The man has brown hair, blue eyes, perfect skin, a body to kill for, and the wit of week old gruel. I don't ever talk to him to talk to him; I talk to him to look at him. Whenever he opens his mouth, I wish he would just shut it and stick to being pretty because "clever" doesn't work for him. I roll my eyes, "Not to mention brain-dead and insufferable. He claims to have worked on a farm back in Ferelden-"

"Right, he's the one who owned cows!" Isabela cackles, "He thought that was _so_ fascinating and kept telling all the women at The Rose that story. He would go on and on about what it's like to raise cattle and how you're supposed to give them massages; which he used as a sort of segue into sex. No woman likes to be compared to a cow. But it's always cows with him. "

"Yeah, and I doubt he knows the moo end from the poo end."

The rogue blinks before throwing her head back and laughing hysterically at my lame ass joke. It's always like this with us: we start to talk about serious issues and begin to toe the line between lecture and argument when suddenly we get distracted by some irrelevant nonsense and start laughing. It's safe to say that we never accomplish anything when it comes to talking.

A smile works its way across my face and I find myself chuckling along with her. Isabela slides off of the table and snatches up the bag from Kiriyama's bed. I watch as she opens it and pulls out a glass bottle full of some green liquid. She gives it a shake and puts it on the table before producing two cups. "We haven't had a drink in ages," Isabela sighs as she uncorks the bottle with a pop.

"Speak for yourself." I laugh, "I had one two nights ago."

"Just one?"

"Maybe three? Eh, actually I can't honestly say how many I had. It was a lot of fun, though."

"Were you with anyone?" Is asks casually as she pours the drink into my cup first before pouring her own.

"Why?" I grin slyly as I hit my cup against hers, "Jealous?"

She takes a swig and glares at me over the brim, "'Course not."

"You just don't know how to play the game, Cap," I mock as I take a sip. We drink in silence and I'm pleased that the alcohol has a fruity flavor. I can barely even taste any alcohol so I quickly get my fill of the beverage. Bad move on my part, because when I make to stand up it all hits me at once like a sucker punch to the temple. Swaying, I take a steadying breath and drag myself over toward my bed and begin to tug off my cowl. When I start to try and kick my boots off, I lose my balance and fall on the bed.

The dark ceiling spins like a whirlpool and the murals of the cityscape begin to blur into nothing but ashy blue and white blobs. A slight pull on my lower half draws my attention and I look down to see Isabela removing my boots for me before moving up and tugging my shirt off. "Can't have you sleeping in chainmail," she tuts as she removes the offending armor from me and throws a blanket over me.

"But I'm not tired!" I whine. My vision begins to dim as I watch her pour herself another cup and down it in one shot. Dark brown eyes glance over to me and a smirk pulls at her full lips. Running a hand through her hair, she places the bag atop my trunk and heads over toward the door. The fireplace has almost completely died as she grabs the handle. "Where're ya goin'?" I slur, making an effort to enunciate as I push myself onto my elbows.

The pirate throws me an aloof look over her shoulder as she opens the door. Her curvy figure is outlined in blue light as she gives a half-hearted shrug and steps over the threshold. "Back to my place. I have someone I need to talk to." She smiles. "Bye, love."

And then she's gone and the door is shut. I breathe in and out slowly as my tongue and my limbs tingle. The light from the fireplace dwindles down from a faint, warm glow to cold darkness but I still can't sleep. When I close my eyes I see a pair of vibrant yellow eyes that burn me with their intensity and their wisdom. Morning light breaks through the cracks in the door and the shutters but I remain in bed. The light fades to darkness but I continue to stare at the ceiling, refusing to sleep.

* * *

"Mina, are you there?" A gruff voice calls as the person bangs on the door. On any other occasion, I would have immediately gone to the door with a blade in hand and a smile on my face. But this time I remain shirtless in my bed, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets and misery. I managed to grab two, maybe three hours of sleep in the past couple of days but the rest of the time I spent pondering the meaning behind the witch's words and wondering what both Kiriyama and Carrow are up to.

"I'm coming in. Make yourself decent if you're even inside."

I'm bathed in early morning sunshine for a moment before the door closes again. Light footsteps make their way across the floorboards before stopping at the foot of my bed. The person shifts their stance and I look up to see that I'm probably still asleep. Why else would Garrett Hawke be in my home, standing beside my bed with me half-naked under the covers? I can't think of any other reason. I blink in confusion as golden eyes stare at me blankly. "Am I asleep?"

"No."

"Oh…"

_No!_

Trying to be as discreet as possible, I sit up slowly and pull the covers around myself so that the cocoon doesn't shift and reveal my terrible old breastband that I haven't changed out of since getting back from Sundermount. Hawke raises an eyebrow and I raise both of mine in response. Just leave, please just say your piece and leave so I can retain some dignity. Don't ask why I haven't stood up to greet you or why I was rotting in bed for so long. All is silent. Hawke sniffs. "It smells in here."

_Nice._

"How'd you get in here?" I ask stupidly.

"Your lock is busted."

_Thanks, Isabela!_

"Well, how did you know that I live here?"

"Isabela."

_Right. Of course they would know each other._

I cough uncomfortably. "Why are you here?"

"I need you." I try not to laugh as the mage frowns at his choice of words. His cheeks take on a light pink hue. "There's another job I would like for you to accompany me on," Hawke clarifies.

I should be doing back flips (if I knew how to do them) when I hear this, but the prospect of facing the world isn't all that appealing. There are so many reasons for me to just stay in bed. But it would be pretty pathetic if Carrow found me hiding under a bed, wouldn't it? And even worse if _Kiriyama_ , of all people, came back to me sulking like a hormonal teen! Gosh, I need to snap out of it. Enough wallowing in my self-pity. "When?" I ask curiously.

"I need you tonight."

_Heh…_

I snort and the mage winces, cheeks turning a vibrant red. Methinks the mage doesn't know how to talk to girls! Or he's just socially awkward. That would explain why he always seems so rude and distant. Golden eyes glare at me and I realize that he isn't socially impaired, he's just a jerk who doesn't know how to be nice to me in order to get my difficult self to cooperate. But how's that when he was all smiles in the clinic that first time? He almost had me then. Hm… Hawke is weird. But I'm not going to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to poke fun at him.

I sigh, "Seriously, Hawke? _Again_? I'm starting to think that you like all the innuendos." I bite my lower lip, "Or is it something else you like?" He glares and I offer him a cheeky grin but bark out a laugh, unable to keep up the ruse. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he turns me into an icicle or sets me on fire right now. I wouldn't really blame him, though, since I do tend to grate on the nerves after a while. My uncle could never tolerate me for more than an hour at a time when I was a child.

After Uncle Carl got tired of me he would pawn me off on Grandaddy Gabriel who would then take me to the dollar theater so I would sit my hyperactive self down and shut up. And there my dream to become an actress was born in that popcorn-y air with the soles of my shoes caked in gum and my arms sticking to the armrests. I was drawn to the glamour of it all. "So, you need my services tonight?" I ask with the best poker face I can manage, trying not to let on that I'm taking jabs and enjoying every second of it.

"Yes." The mage nods grimly, on edge.

I shrug. "All right, then. I'll meet you in front of The Man in the evening."

"Good. Oh, and one more thing." I don't even have time to react as Hawke reaches out a gloved hand and tears the blanket away from me, revealing my under things. "Make sure you dress for the weather this time. It will be a bit nippy."

My entire body is on fire with a blush. "What the shi-!"

"If you find it so positively unbearable to resist having a laugh at my expense, then I must warn you now that I won't hesitate to retaliate despite being your superior. You should learn now that it isn't wise to tease me." Hawke narrows his golden eyes, "Nor my brother." Then he's gone, leaving me dumbstruck and clearly outsmarted.

I... did not expect that. I didn't expect the uppity mage to stoop to my level. Flustered, I fling open the trunk at the foot of my bed, sending the bag Isabela left flying across the room. I swear and pull on a clean shirt. Too late for that, I know, but it makes me feel better knowing that I have something other than my bra on. Gosh! And he got a good look at all of my scars! Ugh. He- Wait… He didn't even _look_! He kept his eyes right on mine, that daring bastard! I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse…

_Mina! Get it together! Revenge over pride!_

Groaning in misery, I pad over toward the bag and pick it up. It's surprisingly heavy and my curiosity is instantly piqued, so I plop back down on my bed and begin to rifle through it. There's a pretty bejeweled container of what's probably the world's finest kohl, a hand mirror, and some golden hair-clips shaped like animals. Slowly but surely my bad mood dies down and it's completely obliterated when I pull the shimmery scarf out from the bottom of the bag. "Isabela," I sigh.

She just makes it so difficult to pay her back. The blush colored scarf is very different from everything I own since I tend to stick to the darker colors so I can blend in better with the shadows. But that color… Blush colored. A very pale pink that I tend to associate with embarrassment and _absolute humiliation_. Like what I experienced just moments ago.

_That bastard._

If this petty mage wants to get on my bad side then he'd better watch out. I'm notorious for my biting jokes and tenacity. Feeling a bit like a super villain, I rub my hands together as I think of my next move. Maybe I could put honey on his head and push him into the dirtiest slums of Darktown for the insects to feast upon? No… Honey is too damn pricey. Oh! I could… Never mind. I've got nothing. I barely even register that the door has opened and closed when someone chuckles, "What's with the creepy face?"

"What? Does _no one_ know how to knock in this damn city?" I groan as I get up to greet Varric.

The dwarf shrugs, "Usually I do, but I was on my way over when I saw that you had a gentleman caller. Naturally, my curiosity got the best of me and I had to talk to you straight away."

I gesture toward a seat and he nods his head in thanks. "Gentleman caller? Ha! I haven't had one of those in ages. Hawke was just here to offer me another job."

"I know, I know."

_Right. He just likes teasing._

I roll my eyes and offer my dwarven companion a drink of the green liquor Isabela had left behind. He takes a cup happily but I won't touch the stuff. I like to think that I already learned my lesson and I don't want to be paralyzed with booze by the time the evening rolls around. But when have I ever learned my lesson about anything? "What have you been up to?" I ask curiously as I sit on my bed and brush the knots out of my hair.

"You mean in the three days since we last saw each other?"

_Three days? Damn, I really know how to wallow._

"Y-Yes."

"I've been out running errands for Hawke and dealing with my own business. What about you, Lucky? Daisy told me she hasn't seen you since we dropped her off at her new house."

"Daisy?"

"Merrill."

_Cute!_

"Oh! Well…" I trail off guiltily. "I've been busy."

"So says Rivaini," Varric nods but there's a certain severity in his eyes. "But from what I hear on the street, you haven't left this house in three days. Did something happen?"

I shrug with a bit of a wince, "Nah. I've just been busy."

"Blondie asked for you the last time I saw him. He wants to check on your hand again."

"Oh? Well, it's fine," I say hastily, glad for the subject change.

"Don't tell me that, tell _him_. He's the healer." The dwarf grins.

"Yeah, yeah. So, are you coming along on this job tonight?"

_Please tell me he's going on this mission!_

Fingers claw anxiously through my hair as I try not to look so antsy. I obviously fail because the dwarf quirks a blond eyebrow as he helps himself to another drink. I stop ripping my hair out and settle for examining my gifts, but damn it if I don't want to go on this job without Varric! The thought of facing that damnable mage without the aid of Varric's comic relief is daunting. Finally, the dwarf responds, "Me? No. I actually have some things to take care of. Hawke's orders."

"Really? Damn!" I hiss but scramble to save face when the rogue grins, "Well, I'm still surprised that he hired me on for another assignment."

The rogue shoots me a curious look. "Why are you surprised?"

"Because he so obviously doesn't like me. C'mon, Shortcake, it's not as though he's made a big secret of it."

"He hired you again, didn't he? I'd say he likes you well enough. He just doesn't trust you yet; and trust is a hard thing to come by. Especially for someone like Hawke."

_Right. Apostate mage. The world really is out to get the likes of him._

"And he trusts you?" I ask carefully, trying not to offend.

Brown eyes glitter. "I like to think so."

"Why? Why does he trust you?"

"Because I gave him an opportunity when no one else would." Varric stands and gestures toward the door, "Now, I think you have some visits to make to two people who would _love_ to know that you're still alive."

* * *

After I washed the angst from myself, applied a liberal amount of kohl to my eyes, and wrapped myself in my pretty new scarf, I headed over to check on the little elf. Merrill was as excited as a puppy when she saw me standing sheepishly on her doorstep. Her home was as scattered as she was and I was glad that I got her a ring for a housewarming gift instead of some sort of furniture.

She gushed over the little trinket and we talked about interesting city spots and what places to avoid until we came upon the subject of the crime in her neighborhood. I told her that she needed to invest in either a Mabari hound or some well-placed traps. On the subject of Mabaris, she told me that Hawke has a great big Mabari named Biscuit whom she met on a job Hawke took her along for just yesterday.

After I finished laughing over the ridiculous name and the image of Hawke cooing the name "Biscuit" to a bear-sized dog, my stomach knotted up at the thought of the mage and I excused myself before Merrill could start asking a bunch of questions as she is wont to do. She's a very inquisitive and bright young thing, so that spells trouble for a secretive person like myself.

I didn't get to see Anders because his clinic was filled to bursting and I didn't want to pester him over a measly scab after a man practically heaving his guts out was rushed inside. The day went by quickly and I was close to standing Hawke up when I realized that I had spent all of my money on Merrill's ring and a lovely necklace I found at the market for Isabela.

_Damn the holes in my pockets!_

So, money is the reason that I'm leaning against the façade of The Hanged Man and telling drunken lechers to piss off. Whenever someone gets too close or too aggressive, all I have to do is tap Slicer and they get the message. But I'm starting to think that Hawke might have stood _me_ up since my legs are beginning to get stiff as the growing darkness brings a chill along with it. I've been here for an hour!

"Carver, just go home." A familiar voice presses and my ears perk just as my heartbeat accelerates.

"I'm coming along whether you like it or not, brother."

I sigh as the two men come into view, "Took you long enough!"

"Mina." Garrett bows his head, looking vaguely apologetic. However, he looks so calm despite our earlier encounter and I just want to kick him for it, but instead I smile winningly and wave at Carver.

The young man ducks his head in greeting before cutting his eyes to his brother. "Was it going to be just you and Mina on this job?"

_Huh?_

Hawke sighs tiredly, "Yes, Carver."

"I beg your pardon?" I scoff, "Then either this is a simple job or you must have a lot of faith in me."

_Or you were planning on whacking me…_

"It's a smuggling job." Hawke shrugs before crossing his arms in a no-nonsense way. "I wanted to see what Isabela seems to find so interesting about you."

"Then it's a good thing I decided to come along, so I can point it out personally." A smooth voice calls out from behind me and a lithe arm is wrapped around my waist.

_Inhale and exhale. Don't scream. Don't even flinch, Mina._

"Hey there, Cap." I say casually as I glance up at the pirate like I knew she was there all along.

"Hello, love. You look breathtaking in that color, as I knew you would." Is grins and gives me a bit of a squeeze.

"So, you really were planning on going out; just the two of you?" Carver asks, seemingly stuck on a subject that was already covered.

"I think he made that much clear. Do try and keep up with the conversation," Isabela chuckles, earning herself a scowl.

"We're wasting time. Isabela, Carver, go on ahead to the marketplace." Hawke orders.

"Why?" The swordsman starts to complain but he's dragged off by the pirate.

"Oh, I'm sure your brother has his reasons. Now, let's go. There's fun to be had on this little endeavor."

Lips pursed, I watch as the only two buffers between me and the dark-haired mage descend a short flight of steps to the deserted market. Ignoring people is one of my strong points. So ignoring a certain haughty bastard (who just so happened to humiliate me in my own dojo earlier in the day) is quite easy. That is, until he begins to justify his actions. Then I can't just stand idly by as he tells me I got what was coming to me. The embarrassment of being fully chastened also plays a major role in my burning desire to defend myself.

"I apologize for my earlier actions," Garrett starts slowly and has the decency to look abashed. "You must admit that you played a role in antagonizing me, though that does not absolve me of my guilt, I know." Now, he frowns. "You claim to be an adult but you certainly don't behave like one. Such behavior will get you in much worse situations if you aren't careful and if you don't eliminate those bad habits of yours."

I click my tongue. " _Bad habits_ , eh?"

"Yes, bad habits. You are incredibly childish and immature. You let your emotions get the better of you and pay for it in battle."

"So, you were trying to make a point? Couldn't your _clearly superior_ mind come up with a slightly more clever way of getting the message across to me without using such extreme tactics?" I glower, "If my behavior is so abhorrent to you, then why stoop to my level? Hell, why even bother calling me out for another job if I'm so incredibly unprofessional?"

He sighs, "Because, despite your childishness, you get the job done."

"But you didn't tell me why you chose to humiliate me. You said earlier that you don't like to be teased-"

"And I meant it. I don't like to be teased." He stresses every word, eyes glowing.

"But that's all a part of my charm." I smirk. "You may be the unyielding, tough-love enforcing leader but that doesn't mean that _everyone else_ has to be the same way. That tactic may work fine for you, but I prefer to disarm people with humor rather than intimidation techniques. That's how I work."

"And I understand that, believe me when I say I do. Varric is much the same way as you, though he doesn't use…" Hawke trails off with a frown. "He doesn't use some of the more elaborate methods that you employ. The point I tried to make- am trying to make- is that you shouldn't behave in such a manner toward your employer unless you want to lose your job and, as an obvious consequence, lose out on money."

I cross my arms. "And by employer, you mean yourself. So far, you're the only employer I've had who has gotten his panties in a wad over harmless teasing."

_Foot, meet Mouth. I'm sure you two will become fast friends._

"That right there is exactly my point." Hawke fumes. "Can't you see how inappropriate you are?"

I don't think it's a matter of being inappropriate, I just think _someone_ can't take a joke. It's a wonder that Varric is even allowed in the mage's company since the dwarf is worse than me when it comes to teasing people! Maybe it's just that Hawke is more comfortable with Varric and therefore allows the rogue to taunt and tease him? Even so, I'm not going to let this mage dictate how I behave. Garrett Hawke is cruising for a bruising but I think words will work better on him than physical assault. Hm. This could prove to be a fun little distraction. With a sly grin, I murmur, "So… You'll continue to retaliate if I keep flirting with you?"

His cheeks color as he balks, " _Flirting_?"

"Ah, that doesn't dissuade me at all. I quite liked being half-naked in a room with you and you alone." I hum as I stroke my chin, "Well then, Garrett Hawke… It's _on_." I don't give him a chance to respond (or light me on fire) as I hurry down the steps and toward the sound of voices. That'll give that high-strung mage something to worry about! Isabela's warm laughter makes me dart down an alley and I follow it all the way to a closed stall. My favorite brunette raider is staring down a trembling dwarf and Carver has a sour look on his face. A laugh escapes me at that expression, "Wow, what's with the face, Sourpuss?"

Blue eyes dart to me and narrow. "Now I'm Sourpuss?"

I shrug and turn my attention to Isabela. "Anything interesting happen while I was being roasted on a spit?"

"Apparently this dwarf is Hawke's contact. We'll be smuggling lyrium," Is replies offhandedly and I nod.

Carver gawks, "How can you two act as though this is an innocent stroll through the streets? We're helping to smuggle _lyrium_ to _Templars_!"

Isabela snorts disdainfully, "Did you hit your head or have you really forgotten who you're speaking to?"

I chuckle into the loose fabric of my cowl and the swordsman blushes furiously. It's funny how he's getting all wound up over a little smuggling gig. Gosh, to think I used to be so far above smuggling as well not more than a year ago and now it's all I do. Well, I was above smuggling but I wasn't above _surviving_. Moral sacrifices had to be made. "Besides, no stroll through the streets in _Kirkwall_ is innocent," I add unhelpfully. "Especially not after dark."

"This is exactly why I didn't want you coming along," Hawke says as he exits the alleyway I had come from moments ago, looking far more composed than I had left him.

"Who, me?" I frown, offended.

Golden eyes give me a pointed look before flicking over toward his brother. "No, Carver."

"What? Why?" The boy asks, positively fuming at the mere idea of being left behind.

"Because you let your emotions get in the way of what needs to be done in order to keep the family afloat."

"So, now you're saying you're better than me." Carver states more than asks.

"No, I'm saying that I understand the need for professionalism whereas you don't," the elder Hawke rebukes.

_Cat fight!_

I sigh deeply as I roll my eyes. I catch Isabela's gaze and she shakes her head before pulling a funny face. I snort loudly and effectively break up the Hawke bitch fit as both men turn their glares to me. Gosh, I didn't know laughing became illegal in Kirkwall. You'd think they'd outlaw slavery before laughter. "How about we all stop going at each other's throats like savages and start working, yeah?" I smile brightly, "I don't know about y'all, but I need money and I'm not above smuggling a bit of the blue stuff in order to get it. What do you say? Ready to put on your big boy pants and get this job over and done with?"

As expected, their glares intensify but at least their anger is now directed at me and not at each other. Hawke gets the specifics from the shifty dwarf Anso (who looks like he's about to soil himself) and then we're heading toward the Alienage. In a bit of déjà vu, the stash of lyrium turns out to be a bust and I do my best to stay out of the brooding mage's line of fire. I'm tempted to pop in on Merrill for a moment but all plans of surprising her are thrashed when we're jumped by slavers.

_I'm so glad it wasn't just me and Hawke on this job!_

"Why are there slavers here? Are they looking to make the elves' lives even shittier?" I huff as I swiftly decapitate an archer.

Isabela kicks a man away from me and stabs him in the chest. "Who knows? I say we kill them, that way we get their stuff and they don't have a chance of ruining some innocent elf's life."

"Sounds like a plan, Cap!"

We tag team a big guy and I have to dodge a man on fire as he throws himself to the ground at my feet. I throw Hawke a dirty look but my stink eye is ruined as I gag at the smell of burning flesh. I can't help but wonder why no one has bothered to look and see what's going on right on their doorstep. Then again, I can't really blame them for not wanting to risk getting involved. Turn a blind eye and all that.

Eventually the last slaver falls and Isabela and I quickly loot the bodies under Carver's disapproving gaze. Then a man appears at the top of the steps leading out of the Alienage and begins to threaten us. Truthfully, I don't really listen to him. I've been threatened by enough people to know that it doesn't matter what you say to them, they're going to try to kill you no matter what. Give a man a sword and he thinks the world should kneel at his feet.

A white-haired elf comes around the corner after a bleeding slaver. I don't pay him any mind either, too focused on the angry man who then calls the elf a slave. That must be the magic word because it sends the elf flying off the handle. I'm about to tell the slaver windbag where he can shove his threats when the elf punches his gauntleted hand through the slaver's chest. "I am _not_ a slave!" The elf hisses.

_Damn! Remind me not to ever call him a slave or anything that sounds remotely like slave!_

Instead of a badass remark leaving my lips, a girlish scream is ripped from my throat. Though shocked, Carver still manages to throw me an amused look. I would punch him if I wasn't so distracted by the nega-Kiriyama. Tall? Check. Tattoos? Check. Scowl? Check. Devastatingly good looks? Check. The only differences are that this man has white hair and luminous tattoos whereas Kiriyama is dark-haired with vibrantly colored tattoos that don't glow. Glancing at Isabela, I find that she's giving the elf appreciative leers. Damn. I'm not looking at him that creepily, am I? Judging by the condescending look Hawke gives me, I probably am.

"Did you set this up?" Hawke accuses right off the bat.

"I admit that I did, yes," the elf replies in a deep, sultry voice that Isabela practically melts at. "I apologize. I didn't expect the hunters to be so… numerous," he says calmly as he looks around at the carnage that surrounds our little group.

"Why did you do this?" Hawke demands, "Why did you set this up? What was there for you to gain by putting us in danger?"

"These men were bounty hunters seeking to recover a Magister's property." The elf sighs. "Namely myself. They were trying to lure me out and capture me. I could not face them alone…"

"You could have simply asked for help. If you were trying to avoid being recaptured, I would have been happy to help," Hawke says, though he sounds anything but happy.

I guess Garrett Hawke isn't used to being duped. I've been double-crossed before, and I'm not talking about Elin. In a theater class I had to write my own play and present it to my professor in lieu of a final exam. I was so excited about my "masterpiece" that I let a fellow classmate and friend read through it. He completely ripped off my screenplay and got all the credit while I was called a plagiarist. I was almost flunked if it hadn't been for Cheyenne who went all East Texas on the thief's ass and got him to fess up. Someone nudges me, "Let's go."

I blink curiously at Isabela. "Huh?"

"All right, love? You've been staring at where that delicious elf was standing for quite a while. We're going to Hightown to help him out with his slaver problem."

I look around in confusion to find that Isabela and I are all alone in a courtyard full of dead bodies. What the hell! Either I need to stop zoning out or people need to be more interesting. Oh, hell. I just need to stop getting lost in my own thoughts. I probably missed a bunch of cool stuff and excellent opportunities to embarrass Hawke. "Where did everyone go?"

"Fenris- that's the elf's name, by the way- went over to his former master's mansion in Hightown to exact his revenge. Hawke and Carver fought over whether or not to help since Hawke's ass is still chapped over being fooled, and then they followed shortly after." The pirate shrugs. "You've been standing there the whole time. The elf asked your name since you were staring but you didn't respond. I told him that your name is Sugarlips. No one corrected me."

"What!"

She laughs hysterically and drags me after her, "I'm just joking! Now, let's go. We don't want to get left behind, otherwise we won't get paid!"

* * *

Has anything traumatizingly embarrassing ever happened to you? Like calling your first-grade teacher "mom" in front of the whole class? Well, I had a Mom Teacher moment. I face planted… I face planted in front of the elf, Fenris, on my way to heroically rescue him from a horde of malicious Shades. And not only did I face plant, I _slid_ all the way to a stop in front of his feet as my Lord went clattering across the floor before smashing into a fancy looking vase and making it explode into a million tiny pieces; much like my pride and self-respect.

How did this happen? I may not be the most elegant woman in Kirkwall or the best fighter, but I have never in my entire life tripped over my own damn feet. Especially not in front of someone I'm trying to impress! So, I'll ask again: _How_ did this happen? Well, judging by the dampness of my leather breeches along my thighs and the mysterious puddle of water on the floor combined with the way a certain mage's eyes are glinting, I think I can take a wild ass guess.

_This is somehow his fault!_

The enemies are slain and Fenris' elusive Magister is nowhere to be found, so Fenris glumly tells our little group to take what we want from the mansion as he storms outside with an angst cloud overhead. Isabela takes me by the elbow and drags me upstairs where she picks the lock on a bedroom door and ransacks the place. I just watch, too bummed out about being made an ass of to even bother filching a few interesting pieces of jewelry from the place.

"What's wrong, sweet thing?" Is coos as she dangles an amulet before my face, "Sulking because Hawke froze those pretty little legs of yours and then melted the ice?"

I glower and snatch the trinket, " _That's_ what he did?"

"Yes and it was absolutely brilliant! What did you do to get such a reaction from that stoic man?" The pirate snickers, "Tell me so _I_ can try it out."

"I didn't do anything!"

_Big fat liar!_

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I insist.

_No. I provoked him!_

"Positive?" Is drawls.

"Yes!"

_I blatantly told him I was going to continue harassing him despite his direct orders not to!_

"Oh, please, love. I can tell when you're lying and that's a boldfaced lie, right there," Isabela sniffs before continuing to loot the grandiose room.

Slumping against the door frame, I watch her turn the entire room upside down as she stuffs a bag full of gaudy baubles and exotic linens. Behind me, in the other room, I can hear Hawke rummaging around as Carver's voice thrums against the walls. I can't make out what the younger Hawke is saying, but gauging from how the two interacted with each other earlier in the evening and by the inflection of his tone every now and then, I can only guess that he's whining about something.

_Good, I hope Carver annoys the crap out of him._

After going over my deplorable situation in my head several times over, I wizen up and decide to steal some things so I can make rent and pay off Bartlett's "friends." Isabela shoots me an approving look as I use a gold-threaded duvet as a makeshift bag and fill it to bursting. It's like the people who lived here were quick to leave since so many expensive looking things were left behind like nothing. Can't really say I blame them. I'd skip town, too, if I knew an elven glow stick wanted to punch his fist through my chest.

Goblets, plates, silverware, paintings, bracelets, rings, books, and candlesticks; nothing escapes my sticky fingers as I quietly tally the selling price of these things in my head. The blanket-bag is immensely heavy and I'm stooped over as I struggle down the steps from Hightown to Lowtown. I had ignored the drama that unfolded on the deserted mansion's doorstep between Hawke and Fenris. It turns out that the elf is a humongous mage hater and Hawke isn't one to sit back and be demonized by an ungrateful elf who wants to play the victim. Isabela wanted to stop and watch the show but decided to follow me instead.

_Just leave Hawke with the bigot. Ultimate revenge? Probably not._

We walk in silence. Well, silence on my part. Isabela can be quite the chatterbox, especially after a lucrative job. She tells me that we should go to The Blooming Rose to celebrate and that there's an elf there that I'll be completely taken with. It's kind of funny, actually. Back in Houston, my best friend Cheyenne would badger me about finding someone who was "marriage material" and here in Kirkwall, my best friend Isabela is trying to hook me up with prostitutes.

"Why are you laughing?"

I jerk at the question, completely unaware that I was laughing aloud. "Huh? Oh, I was just thinking about something."

The pirate rolls her eyes. "You never tell me what's on your mind. It's cute to a point but after a while it gets a bit annoying."

I cut my eyes to her and hoist the bag up a bit. "Funny. _Your_ evasiveness when I ask you where you disappear to is just plain annoying."

_Jeez, Mina._ _Bitch much_ _?_

Then it's silent and I'm left feeling guilty. Duchess stops waving at me when she spots Isabela and begins to glower at the pirate with intense loathing. Her overly rouged cheeks turn even redder when the rogue winks at her and her plucked and painted brows knit together as she looks between us. I give the prostitute a courtesy nod and the surprisingly possessive woman shoots Isabela a victorious look. Bartlett's is just around the corner and I sigh, "Sorry, Cap."

Isabela shrugs. "Don't think anything of it."

"I have something for you."

The beautiful necklace I had purchased for her earlier now feels cheapened; like a tacky way of getting back into her good graces. I feel no satisfaction as she drools over the golden trinket and has me fasten it around her neck. Her good mood is rejuvenated and she knocks back some of the green alcohol that still sits on the table. We chat a while longer about everything and nothing, and she insists that we go over to The Rose. I politely decline and she leaves with a pout, saying that she'll be back later. Sighing, I stuff the loot into my trunk and flop back onto my bed before staring intently at the ceiling.

Gosh, I'm in a funk. I can't believe that I'm letting Garrett Freakin' Hawke get to me this much. But, seriously! Humiliating me one-on-one is one thing, but in front of my friend and other people it's an entirely different story. He just woke the sleeping giant… But damn it that was a good one! Heh, I can only imagine how it loo- No! No, I can do better! C'mon, Mina, think! _Think_!

Let's see… I could… Trip him? No, that's just a lame copy of what he did. Too bad I can't make ice or fire like he can or shock his ass like Merrill. Mages are so freaking lucky! Well, I can just utilize my special talents. Now, let's see what talents I have. Ugh, I can't embarrass him in song. I would only embarrass _myself_ with how incredibly stupid that is and I don't even own a lute. Guess I'll just have to suck it up and buy the honey.

_Damn him!_

"Maker's breath! You frightened me with that dreadful expression!"

I jump with a squeak as Bartlett walks down the steps from his room. He offers me a polite smile, rosy cheeks dotted with violet paint. His bulbous stomach is sagging like a deflating balloon, I notice, and his beady eyes have dark circles. The usually dapper looking man's blond hair is in disarray and his robes have little holes in them. With a tired sigh, he sits down and places a small rectangular package on the table. I feel guilty. I should be providing better for him.

_Seriously? Do I really look that creepy when I'm thinking bad things about a certain infuriating mage?_

"Have you been well, Wilhelmina?"

"I've been fine. How about you, Barty?" I ask cordially. Truthfully, I always try to be sweet to the man. He reminds me of a child; a sad, lonely child. Though, I must admit that sometimes his ignorance can rub me the wrong way and lead to me snapping at him. Bart nods his head and picks at the cloth of his robe nervously and I quirk a brow. This is odd. Not that I've never seen the man on edge before. Usually he's just more relaxed around me since we've already become used to each other. "Something wrong?"

"Oh, not at all!" He laughs shrilly and I wince. "I just… I have a little gift for you, Wilhelmina, for all of your hard work. I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful, what with you scurrying about town all day on jobs whilst I stay up in my room, working on paintings that you yourself have never seen. Often times I find myself thinking that you must believe I'm up there simply twiddling my thumbs since I never allow you up. That's why I decided that this," he gestures towards the package, "would be a suitable gift."

I can't keep the stupid grin off my face, "Aw, how sweet! What is it?"

He beckons me over and I sit across from him with my back to the door. The rectangular package is slid in front of me and it takes all of my self-restraint to keep from ripping it apart. I love getting gifts! I hardly ever got any as a child, so whenever I get one I tend to overreact. Carefully, I tug the fabric from the present and choke back a scream of shock. I manage to turn my surprise into a hacking cough as I goggle at the little portrait.

_Son of a_ _biscuit_ _…_

The background looks like a sunrise with how the light creates a halo-effect around the man, illuminating the bluish hue of his raven hair that seems to be blowing slightly to the left in a gentle breeze. His skin is impeccable like porcelain and his dark facial hair really stands out against the pale flesh. Soft, feminine features accentuate the sharpness of his hazel eyes, and the golden flecks in their mossy depths strike a chord of melancholy in me. "I-It's… It's..." I flounder for the name but my tongue feels numb and my brain is shot.

"It's _Steven_ , yes," Bartlett supplies helpfully like I'm slow. "I know that you've missed him since his absence. You two were very close."

"Yes… Thank you…" My fingers dance across the painting and I don't pay much attention to the sudden pounding on the door. Bartlett startles and hefts himself out of his chair. As he passes me to answer the door, he pats my shoulder fondly. I can't find it in me to look away from the picture. The resemblance is uncanny and I have to admit that Bartlett Sauveterre is an amazing artist. He really captured that condescending look that Kiriyama wears so often. Or _wore_ so often…

"Who is knocking on the door at this hour?"

I glance over my shoulder. "Aunt Isabela, maybe. She said she would be over later."

"Oh, I see," Bart chuckles and I hear the door open. "Hm? Who are y-?" His voice chokes off with a gurgle that makes my skin crawl and my blood turn to ice. I'm out of my seat faster than I've ever moved before and I'm wrenching my Lord off of my back when a rod of icy heat spears through my arm. A growl rips through my throat as tears sting my eyes. The hulking figure standing over Bartlett's thrashing form is one I immediately recognize with a painful clench of my stomach.

_Fan-freakin-tastic!_

"Mina."

"Elin," I hiss as I yank the dagger from my arm, forcing back a yelp of pain.

Warmth streams down from my arm to pool into my glove. Heart hammering like mad, I refuse to take my eyes off of the dangerous blacksmith. He steps further into the house, over Bartlett's now still body, and I see that the flesh around his eyes looks a bit raw. I smirk with a bit of satisfaction at my handiwork and he glares before brandishing that damned cleaver of his. Honestly, I half expected him to carry around the kettle his dead grandson conked me with for shits and giggles. He gestures towards my friend's corpse. "An eye for an eye."

Inhaling deeply through my nose, I steel myself. From day one I told myself not to get attached to the blond man because of how many people wanted his head. But did that stop me? No. I get attached to people and things quite easily and Bartlett was no exception. Pain and grief claw at my heart to the point that I think I might cry, but I won't give this psycho bastard the satisfaction of knowing he got to me. So, I shrug a shoulder and remain impassive.

_Play it cool, Mina. Aim for "Cold Hearted Killer."_

"Your grandson had it coming. He learned his place the hard way and so will you." I chuckle softly as I twirl the dagger in my left hand and tap Slicer against the heel of my boot, "Guess stupidity runs in the family. You really should have avoided me if you knew what was good for you."

Elin glowers. "You're more trouble than you're worth, girl."

"I get that a lot."

"Can't let ya live. You know that."

I nod gravely and stop playing around with the blades. "And you know the same applies to you."

He nods.

_Shit._

This man has to be ten times my size in both height and weight. He could sneeze and kill me, I swear. A vicious assault will be the only thing that will work on him. I'll go for the throat like he did to Bartlett; slice him ear to ear and let him choke on his own blood. Adrenaline burns through my veins to the point that I think my heart might just pop. I wait for him to make the first move. I didn't really expect his first move to involve throwing the cleaver at me and then charging me, though.

Barely dodging the massive blade, I have just enough time to dodge the equally massive man as he barrels into the table behind me. Everything clatters to the floor and Isabela's drink smashes against the dirt floor, spraying glass shards everywhere. Swearing, I kick away the fallen cleaver and kick the back of the man's knee to keep him from getting up. He reaches behind himself and slams an elbow into my gut. The wind is knocked out of me as tears spring to my eyes but it doesn't keep me from raising the dagger and plunging it into his back.

"Argh!" He yelps, "You Fereldan whore!"

_Oh, that's a new one._

Apparently taking a ship from Denerim to Kirkwall instantly makes someone a native of Ferelden. Either that or this man isn't very creative with his insults. If I wasn't too busy heaving for air, I would shoot off a few interesting names to call this Santa look-a-like. Adding insult to injury is my specialty. This will be good practice for Hawke. Not that I'm going to viciously stab Hawke with a dagger! _God, no_! He didn't anger me that much! I'm metaphorically going to rip into him… with _words_.

Swiftly, Elin jumps to his feet and spins around to nail me in the face with a well-aimed punch. My nose snaps easily under the pressure as blood pours down my face and into the back of my throat. Too busy gagging, I take another punch to my temple and am almost knocked out cold. Falling to my knees, I grip my head and drop Slicer and the dagger just as the blacksmith grabs my cowl (and more than a bit of hair underneath) and yanks me back up. He's merciless with his blows and I think that I might have been just a bit too cocky. I'm in way over my head.

"Thought you'd put up a better fight than _this_ ," Elin sneers in my face, hot breath burning my wounds.

_Well then… That makes two of us…_

"Get off of her!"

An angel has just arrived. An angel of death, more like, as Elin disappears and I hear a crash at the other side of the room. I look up and see him bleeding from the head, picking himself up from my now trashed armoire. I'm picked up by two careful hands and I stagger to my feet and lean into the warm, curvy body of my dearest friend. The familiar scent of sea salt and leather is a balm to my frazzled nerves. "Good thing I came back early," the pirate murmurs into the top of my head and I struggle to nod.

"Isabela," Elin growls as he gets to his feet and rips a splinter of wood from his forearm like nothing.

"Sorry, but Mina takes precedence over you." The rogue shrugs. "Don't take it personally."

Then she's engaging in battle as I try to regain my senses. I feel as though my head is submerged in ice water and everything is slow and trippy. I shake my head a few times to clear the fog but it only makes my dizziness worse as the room spins wildly. Back braced against the far wall, I try to keep up with Isabela's quick movements as she ducks and parries. Elin doesn't stand a chance. But, then again, they're both dirty fighters.

The brute has more than just a few hidden blades on his person. I only know this because he produces a thin dagger from his tunic and throws it in my direction, nailing me in the upper thigh. A scream lodges itself in my throat as I hunch over and immediately try to pull out the blade as a burning sensation quickly spreads along my leg. Numbed fingers fumble and slip from the embedded blade's hilt, trying in vain to rip it from my flesh. Damn, the man has quite an arm because it's _really_ in there and it's in there _deep_!

_Don't scream! Don't distract her!_

Isabela, despite my efforts to keep quiet and all of her finesse and experience in battle, is momentarily distracted by this move and is knocked over the head. This man has deadly powerful strikes because the most skilled fighter I know stumbles back in a daze as he repeatedly hits her. He's unyielding in his attacks like he's gone berserk. I have to move. I have to help.

Dagger still in my leg and head still in a fog, I limp forward. The pirate is bleeding badly like I am and I know that this is no good. Elin is too strong for us. Isabela may be quick and cunning but he's so very strong. Once he's got you, he's got you. But I won't just sit back and watch as my savior is beat down, despite having what I assume is a concussion. Reaching a hand out to try and pull him away, the man turns around briefly to kick me in the gut before returning to his relentless assault without even missing a damn beat. I'm nothing but an annoying gnat to him.

Fire burns in my belly and it hurts so much that I forget to breathe. One brown eye stares at me, the other is swollen shut. She yells at me to go, to leave her while she "takes care of this" like with everything else. The idea of leaving her alone with this madman makes my heart sink. I can't and I won't do it. Our eyes are locked even though she's blocking hits and I can tell that every single blow that she deflects is a pain.

I'm terrified. It's not all that surprising that someone got the jump on me in a fight since I'm not all that fast, even though I usually disarm people first- being the unfair fighter that I am. But not  _Isabela_. She fights dirty too, but she's as elusive as the wind. _She's_ an expert. I realize that I've never seen someone get the upper hand in a fight with Isabela before. Usually she has everything under control and no one even touches a hair on her head unless she wants them to. She's always as cool as a cucumber but not this time. This is a first and I don't like it.

_This is too much!_

Time seems to stop as Elin raises a curved dagger and brings it down on Isabela. The blade glints in the warm light of the fireplace as it lowers to the pirate's chest and I'm struck by how fragile the larger than life woman looks. Crimson fluid beads on the surface of her dark skin before dripping lazily down her breast as the metal barely punctures the flesh. Her eyebrows start to furrow and her eye widens in shock. Something sizzles in my ears like cold water hitting a hot pan. I can practically hear her heart as it pounds in her chest, see her body seize in fear, taste her sweat on the air.

"Isabela!"

It's not my voice that echoes in the small room. At least, I don't think it is. It sounds too high pitched, scared, no- _terrified_ , like a little girl. But my throat clenches and my body moves, arms swinging out wildly as I grasp the man by his beefy arm and forcefully jerk him away. My fingers easily pierce into his flesh like a hot knife through butter. He screams in pain and shock as I drag him away from the pirate. Oddly enough, he seems to come willingly.

I jump over his sluggish attempt at swiping my legs out from under me and leap onto his back. He promptly slams me against the wall repeatedly but I won't let go. I'm sure he's broken more than one thing judging by the painful pops and cracks that come from my back and the searing pain that shoots up and down my spine like electricity. I've locked my arms around his neck and keep tightening until he's gagging and gasping for air.

"Told you this was a mistake on your part!" I hiss into his ear in a gravelly voice, "This is for Bartlett!"

Ripping the dagger from my leg, I stab him again and again as he howls in pain. No mercy. And why should I bother showing mercy to the son of a bitch who so ruthlessly sliced open the throat of an innocent man? Not to mention he gave me a paying job on the pretext of having me killed. I'm still bitter that I never got a copper from that job… Okay, it sort of disturbs me that the fact that I didn't get paid bothers me more than the fact that he wanted me dead.

_Focus!_

Tightening my legs around his waist, I grip his chin and jerk his face up as I press the blade against his throat. He bucks me off of him as I shift my hold and I fall to the floor with a painful thud. "Stay still!" I bellow, scrambling to get back up. I feel like a turtle that's been flipped onto its back as I grind my teeth and try to get to my knees. Little snaps and pops reach my ears followed by electric bolts of pain. This is taking far too long and I'm bracing myself for the killing blow when I finally get to my knees. I look up when the final strike doesn't come and realize that Elin is frozen. Not literally _frozen_ , but just immobile for the most part. He doesn't move to attack.

A shuffle catches my attention and I see Isabela cautiously walking over to stand behind me, rubbing at the little cut on her chest. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" I gasp as she pulls me up.

She gestures towards the statue of a man. "You told him to stay still and, well, there you have it."

The blacksmith's face is devoid of emotion, head hung low as he sways eerily from side to side. His icy blue eyes stare blankly ahead as his arms rest listlessly at his sides. His posture is so relaxed that he drops the blade that he had in his hand and it clatters against the perpetually dirty floor that is now stained red with blood. Cautiously, I approach him and snap my fingers in front of his face. Not even a flinch.

_I wonder…_

All the things that both Carrow and Kiriyama said to me about being a manipulator come crashing down on me in this moment. I charmed Carrow to be merciful, I coerced the blond elf named Algar into releasing me despite his reluctance, and I… What else have I done? Who else have I completely mind-raped into doing what I wanted when I wanted it? Is this a blessing or a curse? Suddenly, Kiriyama's words come back to me. "You could have made Carrow kill himself," he'd said.

"K-Kill…" I grimace, my conscience getting the best of me until I glance back at Isabela and see her swollen and bloodied up face. I swallow hard. "Kill yourself," I say with conviction, eyes on Elin's as I breathe heavily. It's quick and clean. If I had blinked, I wouldn't have seen the large blacksmith snap his own neck. Behind me, I hear a sharp intake of breath from Isabela as Elin falls to the floor like a broken doll.

_Holy shit…_

At first I feel completely repulsed by what I just did, but then that feeling is quickly smothered by awe and confusion. And then, everything is put on the back burner and pain is at the forefront. It's not pain from the total ass whooping I received at the hands of Elin. The pain from the fight is a completely different animal than this horrible ache and crippling throb in my head that supersedes everything else.

My brain feels as though it has swollen to over twice its normal size as it pulses, putting intense pressure on the backs of my eyes.

Fingers flex as I shakily brace my hands on my knees and hunch over. Every muscle feels strained, pulled to the breaking point, and I have to focus to hear Isabela's swiftly approaching footsteps over the rushing of blood in my ears. I look up as she straightens out her outfit, a curious look on her face as she stands next to me. "I knew there was something off about you!" She grins despite her obvious discomfort, "I thought that if Kiriyama had that little quirk then there _had_ to be something going on with you as well. Yours isn't as obvious as his, though, but it's definitely intere- Whoa! Are you all right?" Her gloved hands shoot out to steady me as I collapse onto my knees.

My lips move but nothing comes out. Or something does, but I just don't hear it. Something warm slides down my face and I think I must be crying. Isabela, for her part, looks horrified which is understandable since she never was all that good with handling emotional outbursts on my end. But when I reach up to swipe away the offending droplet, my hand comes back smeared with blackish red fluid. That's when more warmth drips down my face out of my eyes, my nose, and my ears until my stomach curls with fire and I find myself heaving out what looks like chunks of blood and blackened, clotted flesh. It all smells putrid and rotten like bodies that have been left out to decay for days.

_Oh, God! I'm dying!_

The acrid taste burns my tongue and nose. It smells like blood but tastes like bitter ink. Before I know it, I'm being tugged up by my armpits by the pirate and dragged over towards the bathroom. I continue to hack and heave as Isabela supports me against her body. She shifts around a bit before rushing over to the trunk at the foot of Kiriyama's bed and pulling a couple of health potions out of it. She then hurries back over to me and forces me to drink.

"Th-Thanks," I manage to choke out as I begrudgingly swallow a slimy chunk of bloody flesh along with the sugary, expensive potion. The fire in my belly subsides a bit but my stomach still feels bubbly. I've broken out in a cold sweat and can't breathe through my nose, what with it being clogged up with blood and gunk. My ears and eyes are still streaming with blood and I have to keep rubbing it away. This is absolutely disgusting. I might just throw up all over again.

_Okay._ _This is definitely a curse._

Beside me, Isabela knocks back a health potion and shakes herself. We don't say anything for a while as our bodies are slowly mended and I mistake the uneasy silence for a blessing. The pregnant pause allows me to regain my bearings; my brain feels like it shrinks back down to size as the steady flow of blood from my face abates to a slow trickle. Everything goes back to normal, well, semi-normal. With trembling hands I tug at the edge of my cowl, the after-effects of the potion leaving me a bit jittery.

"What was all that?" Isabela finally asks, "Does that happen often? I mean, I usually have my monthly bleeding but that was a bit of overkill."

_Ah… Hah… Shit._

"I don't know." I sigh, voice a bit nasally, "That's the first time that ever happened to me."

She's quiet for a moment before finally speaking, "Are you human?"

"Wh-What?" I sputter.

The rogue frowns. "When I looked into your eyes… When I looked into your eyes as you started throwing up your innards, I saw something."

My stomach knots. "What did you see?"

"I'm not exactly sure."

I sigh, "Cap, just tell me."

_Really, I don't think this can get any worse._

"I saw you and a blond man. You were bleeding in a dungeon, surrounded by a bunch of bodies. He used blood magic to heal you and then… Everything sort of jumped and he called you a demon." Isabela looks at me with the most serious expression I've ever seen her wear. "You never told him otherwise. He tried to ask what sort of demon he summoned and you told him to guess."

_I stand corrected. This_ can _get worse._

"I'm _not_ a demon." I hasten to say.

"Are you sure? I haven't ever met anyone who wasn't a mage who could do things like you and Kiriyama. Not that it's a _bad_ thing. Just-"

"I swear to you that I'm not a demon. I was summoned, yes, but I'm not a demon," I insist.

"How can a _person_ be summoned?" Isabela squints and asks curiously. She's not being accusatory or suspicious but it still rubs me the wrong way. Eventually I was going to tell her that the story I told her on the ship was a lie, but I wanted her to find out on my own terms. I thought I was being careful by not letting a few references to my original culture slip, but how could I have foreseen that I would, I don't know, _project_ some very incriminating memories to her? Everything is just going to hell in a hand-basket.

"Listen, I'll just make this short and sweet since I'm eager to get all of this blood off of me and clear the bodies from this place before a guard comes around and sends me to the Gallows for murder," I sigh and get up so I can retrieve Slicer and start straightening out the room.

_Keep busy._

Her eyes are on me. "Go on, then."

Tongue darts out to wet my suddenly dry lips. "I was killed and then summoned by a blood mage for the sole purpose of destroying the Circle of Magi over in Ferelden. That blond man you saw was the blood mage, well, he _is_ the blood mage I'm running from. I told him I was a demon so… Well, I'm not sure why. I guess I was just hoping it would keep him from hurting me."

The rogue replies at length, "Okay. Well, that makes sense, I guess."

I shrug as I rearrange everything back onto the table, freezing as I come across the portrait of Kiriyama that is now dotted with blood. "I wasn't the mage's 'beautiful songstress' but I _was_ being held against my will. I apologize for lying to you before but… I'm not sure what I am anymore. I _might_ be a demon, I don't know. If I knew what I was for sure, then I would tell you. My existence isn't natural and a lot of people had to die for me to be reborn and… I want you to swear you won't tell anyone."

_Prepare to have to do a bunch of groveling._

I turn around to find her staring at me. She looks healthy, though she's covered in blood. Her wounds are all healed up without even the faintest scar. My head still throbs, my body aches, and I think my nose might have healed wrong, but I don't think all of the health potions in the world can fix this strange affliction. Compared to her, I'm sure I look a mess with blood streaking from my eyes and nose from that massive hemorrhage.

"Everyone has their secrets, pet. But I'll only keep this a secret if you don't ever use that mind bendy thing on me," Isabela grins, completely undermining the seriousness of our conversation.

I blink. "Uh, okay."

Her brow puckers. "What?"

"Nothing. I just… I thought you would ask for something more." I shake my head. "Thanks. You're a good friend."

My favorite pirate smiles wickedly, "Well… I _could_ always ask for something else. I honestly wouldn't mind if you ordered me around a bit."

_Nice. Just give the deviant an opening._

"Oh, jeez. What do you want, Cap?" I grin despite myself.

"I could use a bath to get rid of all this blood," she says suggestively, tugging at the collar of her tunic. Looking around, I eye my smashed armoire, the two corpses, and the blood all over the place. The house is an absolute wreck compared to how homey it looked not even a half hour ago. Gosh, not an hour ago Bartlett was alive and waddling about with his paint-splotched face, politely laughing and keeping me company. The grin slides off of my face as I stare at the crumpled figure. Now his body lies just in front of the door, blood pooled around his head and staining his white-blond hair a rusty orange.

"What about the bodies?" I ask, coughing to clear the newly formed lump in my throat.

"I'll get it all sorted out." Isabela replies softly. "Now, come on. Let's get you cleaned up."


	19. Kiriyama: 05. Evil

**Kiriyama: 05. Evil**

Despite all of their similarities, they're nothing alike. He's tall and stocky whereas she's short and lithe, he's cold and distant but she's warm and engaging, he's mature and serious while she's childish and can be kinda immature. It seriously baffles me that _he's_  the younger sibling that Mina cooed over all this time.

But after this, after lending a hand in destroying the life of someone she loved so much, I don't think Mina will _ever_ forgive me despite her merciful nature- probably the only thing I ever envied about her. This is one more thing working against me earning her trust; one more _huge_ thing. And as far as ever having Michael's trust, I know that that will never happen. Not even if his life depended on it would this boy trust me. I know this only because he found it necessary to tell me _exactly_ how he knows me. It was all very dramatic.

He described to me in great, agonizing detail how he received a panicked phone call from Mina's roommate and close friend, Cheyenne Smithson, who said that she decided to check in on Mina at the Laundromat after she was gone for far too long. It was two in the morning when she walked by a bundle of men's clothing at the corner of the street, which she glanced at curiously but didn't investigate further, and five minutes past that when she discovered her roommate's clothes in a large puddle of blood. She called the police and then called Michael.

Cheyenne said quite hysterically over the phone that there had been so much blood. She apologized over and over again for not going along with her friend; she said that there were quarters all over the floor and that she could only guess that someone had tried to mug her best friend. She knew Mina had fought back. She knew deep in her heart that her friend had lost. The suspicious clothing on the street had Mina's blood all over it.

In the back pocket of the jeans was a wallet containing the I.D. of one Steven Kiriyama; a man with no criminal history and no motive to kill, but he was the only lead. The investigators showed Michael and his mother the photo of the suspect, of me, wondering if they had seen the man before. They hadn't. But the image of the man's face was burned into Michael's brain. That's how he knew who I was the very moment he saw me.

It was awkward between us then. He stood, looking like all he wanted to do was choke the life from me, while I watched him anxiously. He was waiting, I knew. Waiting for me to tell him what I did to his older sister, waiting for me to confirm that she was dead and gone. So, I told him that I had killed her with a pocketknife. As I spoke, I watched the fury and grief in his eyes as his jaw worked to keep back threats and the muscles in his arms flexed in an effort to remain by his sides. When I finished telling him how I left her lying on the floor, he was silent. Then I told him what happened after.

"What?"

"The man you just saw, Carrow, summoned us using blood magic," I repeat. Sure, my bluntness would likely make Mina smack me if she was here, but I don't think mincing words is something someone as brusque as Michael would appreciate. Especially not when he still looks like he wants to rip out my spine and choke me with it.

Michael sneers. "Right. What is this, some sick game? I hope you know that I'm going to kill you. I promise you that you won't leave this room alive."

At least they share the same temper, I think, even as I roll my eyes. "This isn't a game, Michael. Your sister is alive."

"Then take me to her." Is his swift reply, the forcefulness of his words making them bang off of the walls of the desolate dungeon.

At the risk of having him kill me like he seems to love threatening, I respond, "Sorry, but I can't do that. Not right now."

"Can't or won't? I bet my sister ditched you the moment she got the chance. She probably couldn't even stand the sight of your disgusting face," he spits, eyes practically glowing. "Or _she's_ really dead and _you're_ just some raving lunatic who gets his sick kicks from psychological torture."

I sigh, "She's alive and we traveled together in order to escape Carrow. When she-"

"Escape him?" He interrupts, "Then why are you _here_ if you're running from this alleged mage? I'd find it hard to believe that you got caught, since you're so good at fleeing."

It looks like they share the same sharp tongue and knack for knowing just where to stick the blade, as well. My patience doesn't wear thin with him, surprisingly enough. I suppose after dealing with both Mina's and Carrow's mood swings, I can handle pretty much any temper tantrum that can possibly be thrown. Between Carrow's fits of rage and Mina's low-grade moodiness, Michael is quite tame. Annoying, but tame.

"I came back to kill him out of my own free will," I state calmly.

He snorts, "Obviously that didn't work. Guess you can't always successfully butcher someone."

"Aren't you going to ask why I want to kill him?"

The boy rolls his eyes. "Oh, why do want to kill the pesky mage, Mr. Killer? Is it because you have an insatiable thirst for blood and death? Wasn't murdering my sister enough for you? Or do you have a quota that you have to meet by the end of the month?"

I take it back. Make Mina taller and burlier and these two could be mistaken for the same person. They both know how to get under the skin, how to grate on the nerves and just bug people in general. It's people like them who shake and move others like puppeteers, getting reactions for their own entertainment. This must be a nasty habit that the boy picked up from his sister. But this boy uses more venom and there's no jesting glint in his eyes. Just fury and contempt.

"No." I sigh and I feel like I'm going to have to do a lot of sighing. "Carrow has control over your sister and myself and wants to use us for his wicked and highly lofty plans to destroy the Circle of Magi here in Ferelden; a place that serves as a holding cell for the mages of this region- the Circle, not Ferelden. Neither Mina nor I want to partake in this insane crusade of his, obviously, so I took it upon myself to come back and end his life. And, like you said, that didn't work out."

He sets his mouth into a thin, grim line. Those dark eyes of his grow even darker as he looks down at his bare feet. He's in deep thought as he wrings the fabric of Carrow's heavy traveling cloak between his hands and sucks in his bottom lip. I almost laugh at the familiar action, having seen Mina do the same several times. But laughter would be an inappropriate response to such a serious situation.

"You said Ferelden, right?" Michael asks lowly.

I narrow my eyes as he looks away guiltily like he's the one who single-handedly ruined the lives of an entire family. Without all of the glares and the venom, he looks his age. He could almost be mistaken for a sweet, innocent young man if he stopped frowning so much. Now I understand what Mina meant when she told me that he's very serious for his age and behaves like some mature, albeit snarky, adult.

"Yes, I did."

"Dammit!" My eyebrows furrow as he begins to pace back and forth, stepping over the limbs of the little boys who died to bring him here like he doesn't even notice them. He's strangely calm amongst all this carnage like he's used to it, but then again he could just be putting up a façade like his sister so often does. Michael halts and fixes me with a harsh glare. "Why exactly can't you take me to my sister? You already said that your plan to kill Carrow failed, so why bother sticking around? Does he have this place guarded?" Michael crosses his arms with a determined look. "We could work together to escape if that's the case, but I'll only stay with you until I get to her. Where is she, exactly?"

"She's in Kirkwall, up north in the Free Marches."

A smile tugs at his lips as he lets out a breathy laugh, "This is a joke, isn't it?"

I frown and reply at length at such a strange reaction, " _No_. I already told you that this isn't some joke. She's living in Lowtown with an artist named Bartlett Sauveterre. I promise you that I would never leave her alone to fend for herself. She has that man and a… a trustworthy woman to keep her company." I grimace at the thought of the perverted pirate.

Michael barks out a laugh and rubs a hand over his face. "Leave it to Billy to get me mixed up in the weirdest things. Can we leave now? I need to see her."

"Look, I already said that I can't go. I have more business to take care of. But _you_ can go and I can help you get out." I start cautiously, trying to think of a way to help Michael escape from the knowing mage's clutches. "Carrow can be a bit tricky."

I still don't have the information that I wanted. I saw what I wanted to see but my work here _isn't_ done. I know how Mina and I came into existence in this strange world and, unfortunately, it was _her brother_ who had to pay the ultimate price for my curiosity. And although I want to help Michael leave, send him off to Mina, I know that Carrow has been giddy at the prospect of having another "creature" and won't be too keen on the idea of losing him. The only positive thing to come from this is that Carrow has yet to steal Michael's ability to revolt against him and I'll make damn sure that he never does. I shouldn't waste any time getting him out of here. 

"Oh, Kiriyama!"

I freeze as the hollow voice floats down the staircase. It's almost like the bastard can smell rebellion. Michael's eyes narrow as he looks through the doorway in the direction of the skeletal man who slowly descends the steps. A genuinely troubled look is on the mage's face as he makes his way down the stairs and stops at the bottom of the steps. He smiles politely and bows his head in Michael's direction. The boy raises an eyebrow.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It appears that Mina has had a bit of a reaction to her essence being destroyed. I fear there may have been a witness to the slight... corruption, if you will, to her mortal form." Carrow sighs tiredly and Michael stiffens beside me. "Kirkwall has a notoriously strong Templar influence and I'm afraid that the witness might turn her in on the basis of being an abomination. The rules pertaining to abominations or superior beings that the Chantry fears are quite strict and I fear that she may be executed if word were to get out that she can taint the impressionable minds of Kirkwall's upstanding citizens."

"Corruption? What do you mean by 'corruption'?" Michael asks, looking frightened.

Carrow waves him off. "Oh, her body rejected an immense amount of the sacrificial blood that flows though her veins to maintain her. She will be fine after some time but I highly suggest that you, Kiriyama, pop over there and bring her home once and for all before she's put into any danger."

So what happened to me during the first ritual happened to Mina, but on a larger scale? I can only imagine how much that must have hurt her. But that must also mean that she'll be bleeding from her _eyes_ for quite a while, which definitely won't go unnoticed in a city brimming with suspicious people. She'll be questioned for sure and I'm not sure how long she'll be able to withstand an interrogation since she's an open book when drunk. And if they torture her? My stomach twists.

"All right."

As I reach for Michael, Carrow holds up a hand. Ice tears through my veins as the man shakes his blond head, silently telling me that I can't take the boy with me. Ordering me to leave on my own. That empty space in my body, in my chest, hums as the air around the mage's hand ripples with his compulsion magic. Michael seems to sense it as his brow furrows and he shoots the mage a startled look and the empty place ceases to hum. Carrow notices this and raises his eyebrows. Usually nothing fazes the man, so I turn my attention to the boy and find that his eyes are almost jet black and his skin has gone pale and gray. Like when he was dead.

What's going on?

Carrow drops his hand to his side, the magic dissipates, and Michael's skin slowly regains its peach hue. His hair, I notice, had turned inky black and now returns to its normal brown. The boy breathes in deeply like he was holding his breath the whole time and turns his coal black gaze to me. I'm transfixed as the black lightens at a snail's pace until his eyes are back to normal. There's something almost bestial in his gaze that doesn't disappear, though. Goosebumps rise along my skin.

"Actually, Kiriyama, I've changed my mind." The mage hums softly as he watches the boy through narrowed eyes, "I need you to fetch me a few items from town. I'll make a list. Mina should be able to take care of herself for the time being. She's done a bang up job of it so far." He leaves us faster than he came, royal blue robes swishing against the stone steps as he disappears through the basement door. Michael is still staring at me intently, breathing shallow and body stiff. I'm reminded of those nature videos where the lion is waiting in the tall grass, watching the zebra graze, breathing softly and staying still until the right moment to strike arrives.

I clear my throat, already backing off. "Let's get you some clothes."

Michael seems to snap out of his predatorial daze. "Hm? Oh, right." He looks around with a grimace. "Yeah, let's go. It smells in here."


	20. An Itch You Can't Scratch

**15\. An Itch You Can't Scratch**

"I always knew Elin would be a nasty bastard to fight," Isabela sighs as she sinks into the tub of hot water across from me.

I look up once I'm sure that she's safely submerged in the water. The pirate usually has no qualms about showing off her curvaceous body and being covered in blood doesn't change that. I, on the other hand, practically ripped my clothes off in an effort to get into the water as quickly as possible without having to flash the rogue or the sex worker who seems to find it necessary to stand in the room with us. Then again, I would strip and dunk myself in the water even if I wasn't dripping with blood. I wouldn't just lazily peel off my clothes and fool around before getting in the tub, giving the strange woman an eyeful.

_I'm sure that woman enjoyed the view._

Steam rises off of the surface of the water that I'm stewing in. Apparently, The Blooming Rose has a bath area for particularly wealthy customers to mess around with their preferred courtesans in and Isabela is on good terms with the Madam. What does that mean for us? Well, for starters we got a good rate and didn't have to pay through the nose for some heated up water in a tub and we also got to take our pick of scented oils.

A dolled up woman with curled hair and a very tight corset had ordered a meek elf to fill the tubs with boiling hot water before offering her services. I politely declined and Isabela grudgingly refused after shooting me a look. The woman still hasn't left, though. Guess she can't take a very obvious and not so subtle hint. "And here I was thinking those muscles were for show!" I chuckle humorlessly, still a bit shaken up. Okay, _very_ shaken up. 

"What's wrong, love? Need to heave chunks again?"

"No." I groan, squeezing my eyes shut as a painful tremor rips through my stomach and jabs at my brain, "Sorry for getting you all tangled up in my business."

She shrugs, making an effort to raise her breasts from the water. "It's no big deal. You know me, I love a good fight."

_Of course she'll act like everything is just peachy._

Sometimes it annoys me when Isabela refuses to acknowledge the seriousness of a situation, but right now it comes as an immense relief. Right now, I can use all the levity that I can get. Combing my shaky fingers through my hair, I glance at the intruder and find that she's staring at me. She's been staring at me intently since I took off my cowl. There was a little gasp and some murmurings in French (or whatever language) and I took to ignoring the woman after that. Guess she has a thing for scars.

"Anyway, you won't _believe_ who I saw here at The Rose as we were coming into this room!" Isabela snickers, leaning forward in the tub.

I raise my eyebrows as I begin rubbing the blood from my body. "Who?"

"Oh, come on and have a little fun! Take a guess!"

"Um, Varric?"

She snorts, "Way off."

"Merrill? You've met Merrill, haven't you?"

_Please don't say Merrill! That would be disturbing on so many levels._

"Why, yes I have. Cute little thing, but it wasn't her. We met on a job just yesterday with Hawke and his Mabari." Is shudders. "I _hate_ dogs. They're always shoving their noses in your crotch without even buying you a drink first."

I grimace, "Ugh. Moving on. Erm… Hawke?"

"No, but you're close! Andraste's saggy tits! If I knew you were so terrible at guessing, I would've put money on it!"

"Okay, not Hawke but I'm close." I hum, ignoring her jab, "Carver?"

"Yes!" She cackles, tossing her head back, dark curls flying around.

_Seriously?_

Uptight Carver Hawke is here at The Rose? This disturbs me a bit since he's only a few years older than my baby brother. I can't even fathom the weirdness of seeing my _own_ brother at a brothel. What would I do? Scream, maybe. Blush and start swearing at him for being in such a place. He would most likely turn it around on me, though, since he can be a really slippery fox. But then I would just swear some more and start pushing him out of the place.

Obviously I don't handle embarrassing situations all that well. Did I tell you what happened when Hawke tripped me? I laid there on my face until the battle was over and Isabela nudged me with her foot and asked if I was dead- that's what I did. Then I refused to make eye contact with anyone and allowed Isabela to mercifully drag me away from that mortifying situation.

_Does Hawke know that his kid brother goes to_ _cat_ _houses?_

I dunk myself under the water and just think. The warmth burns the little nicks that were once large cuts. An orange-y tint keeps me from opening my eyes, refusing to let my peepers get burned by citrus scented oil and blood. Really, I need to get back at Hawke. I won't take this crap lying down- uh, well, I sort of did already but that's not the point! Something, I have to get him with _something_. I scrub at my hair and ears before resurfacing and fixing Isabela with an intense look. Her eyes darken and she smirks. "Yes, kitten?" She purrs.

"How was he behaving? Shifty? Nervous?"

She rolls her eyes. "Really now? There's so much we could be doing right now and you want to talk about that pup?" I nod. "Oh, _fine_." She sighs exaggeratedly, "He did seem a bit on edge but he was also enjoying himself with a girl."

_Ew._

"Hm." I loll my head back as I massage my neck. "How well do you know Hawke?"

"I've only known him a few days. Why?" Isabela asks, watching my movements critically.

I'm trying to make my actions as subtly provocative as possible. Isabela has probably already caught on to my little game, but as long as she's being entertained in some way then she'll easily answer my questions without a fuss. Humming softly to myself, I slowly rub some nonexistent grime from my legs despite having already thoroughly cleaned myself. Though I really want to laugh, I continue on with the charade like a pro. I'm an actress- I should be able to act in my sleep.

"Do you think he comes here? Hawke, I mean."

Isabela shrugs. "Don't think so. He hardly ever goes out unless it's for work or to visit Varric at the tavern. Hawke does lots of odd jobs, really. Some things he does for _free,_ " she says like it's the most appalling thing in the world.

"Aw," I sigh in disappointment and almost flinch when the other woman turns her body in my direction.

_Back off lady! This show isn't for you!_

Damn! So Hawke is some workaholic and a homebody? It's kinda creepy how similar we are... Gosh, how the hell am I going to get him to come over to The Blooming Rose of his own free will without switching on any alarms in his magical little head? We aren't exactly the best of friends, so any invitation from me will either be disregarded or met with some skin peeling glare.

What an unfortunate setback. This is the only good idea I've had so far: getting Hawke to find his brother at a brothel. That situation is sure to cause some mental scarring and a bit of twitching. It's either this or the honey if I can't find a way to get his annoying butt here. And, quite frankly, that honey plan blows. Isabela throws her head back and laughs, "What's with the weird face? You sort of look a bit pervy like that. No, no! Don't change it! I kind of like it."

I jolt out of my thoughts, causing the water in my tub to slosh around. "Wh-What?"

_Really? That's_ three _people to tell me I get a creeper face when thinking about Hawke!_

The pirate glances at the sex worker and waves her hand dismissively. The woman bows her head and leaves, casting me one last fleeting look. Was it really that easy? Huh, I doubt she would have just left if _I_ waved at her. I probably could have flipped her off or made some other rude hand gestures and she would just think I was coming on to her. Sinking lower into the water until my chin is touching the surface, I frown at Isabela. "What were you saying?"

"Your seduction skills have really improved." She smirks as she gets out of her tub. "I almost thought that woman would throw herself into your bath!"

I try not to watch as water drips down the length of her body over her dark skin, pooling around her feet in a rose scented puddle. Warm eyes watch me smugly and I quickly busy myself with splashing around in my water like a little kid; making the surface ripple and cupping my hands so water spurts out in a jet. A throaty chuckle fills the room as the pirate slowly makes her way over towards me, slinking along like an agile cat. Before I know it, she's leaning over my bath to look me in the eye.

_Keep your damn eyes on her eyes!_

"Like what you see?" She asks, eyes half-lidded.

"Yes." I reply promptly and a grin spreads across her full lips. "That robe. Can you hand it over to me?" I ask sweetly, trying not to beam with pride when my finger doesn't tremble as I point to one of the robes left out for us.

With a huff she walks over to the robes and throws one at me. She still has that grin on her face, so I know that I didn't irritate her _too_ much. After struggling to get up for a bit, I finally stand up and wrap myself up in the robe before stepping out of the tub. The fabric feels slightly worn and smells like someone sprayed it down with some sort of musky perfume that's supposed to be "sensual" but instead makes me sneeze.

"Why were you asking about Hawke?" Isabela asks, brushing her hair out as she sits on the edge of my tub, "Do you fancy him?"

I snort, "Yeah, right. I'm just trying to figure out how to get back at him for making an ass out of me."

"Ooh, _revenge_! Are you avenging your pride, sweet thing?"

"Yes, Cap. I'm avenging my pride." I murmur before shaking my hair out and fixing her with a glare, "I don't take public humiliation lightly. You know that."

Her face goes blank for a moment before her eyes light up. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she starts giggling. I roll my eyes as the giggles transform into hysterical laughter. Isabela finally manages to choke out, "You're talking about the time that Doug called you a hideous wretch in front of the others, right?"

_That gigantic jackass._

That sleaze-ball only called me that because I refused to remove my cowl for him despite his annoying begging and pleading. I went on with the whole "I don't even remove this for my friends" bit and he got his pretty little feelings hurt over something that wasn't even personal. Then his pea-brain thought it was a good idea to make it personal by insulting me. Oh-ho-ho. Not a good move on his part. If I ever feel like I've been wronged, I always get revenge and I always make sure it's nice and sweet. For me, I mean. It's more painful and bitter for my victim.

Lips pursed, I nod grimly before moving to the fresh clothes that Isabela had delivered for us. Someone she knows probably went back to my place and got some of my things because they're all familiar articles of clothing. Black leather breeches, a white shirt, and a stormy gray scarf are folded neatly for me. Sheesh, the person even got my small-clothes! Even a handkerchief Kiriyama had bought for me when I got sick is folded neatly atop the clothes. Though it makes me a bit depressed, I dab at the blood that I can already feel pooling at the corners of my eyes with the piece of intricately embroidered cloth.

"I remember! You pulled his pants down around his ankles in front of the Chantry and it turned out that he wasn't wearing his smalls so he got arrested." Is sniggers as she watches me dress, "The prat deserved it but that was _evil_."

I shrug. "Like you said, he deserved it. And it's time for Hawke to get his."

"Hm, I'm sensing an ulterior motive. Doug fell for you after you pulled that stunt of yours because he likes those tiresome cat-and-mouse games you love to play." She gives me an analytical look. "Are you hoping the same will happen with Hawke?"

I can only gawk at her for coming up with such a ridiculous idea. The pirate pulls at the laces on her outfit, leaving the ones at the top undone so her cleavage is on full display. I would feel naked if I had part of my chest exposed like her. Heck, I feel exposed without the familiar chill of my chainmail. But getting back to what she said and not getting sidetracked by her borderline exhibitionist behavior; the woman is clearly daft. Why on earth would I want someone as dull and lackluster as Hawke to court me? The very idea makes bile burn the back of my throat.

"Don't be ridiculous." I scoff, tightening my belt and hefting Slicer onto my back, "He'd be lucky if I even decided to spit in his direction."

"All right, all right. No need to get your panties in a bunch. Now, would you like to get a drink before we head back to your place? Oh, wait, sorry." She shakes her head before fixing me with a smarmy grin, "Your place or mine?"

I roll my eyes and snort but I can't keep the grin off of my face. "Does that actually work on people? I can't imagine anyone would feel safe going home with someone wearing _that_ expression. You look more like you're going to slowly kill me, not show me a good time."

"Ha! Oh, aren't you sweet? I was just pulling the same face you had on earlier, kitten. So, drinks?"

That's _what I look like? Yeesh!_

"No thanks, Cap. I'm going h-" I abruptly choke on the word. The pirate gives me a pitying look and I immediately flush and look away. Death is a common thing. It's everywhere, really, so I shouldn't get so worked up over it. It happens all the time, every day. No one is immortal. Well, there might be immortal people in this weird-ass world, but for the argument's sake there aren't. Bartlett was bound to die. He should have died long ago, actually, but I intervened more times than I'd care to remember. So, death… isn't a big deal. I'll die someday, too. "I'm going home." I cough. "You go on and have fun. I haven't had a good night's rest in ages, so I'll hurry on back to Lowtown and get my sleep on."

Isabela smiles softly. "You always say the weirdest things."

"Right. Well, be careful, Cap. I'll see you later." As I wave goodbye and watch her exit the bathing chamber, I realize just how unstable I am. Emotionally, I mean. One moment I'm flirting and considering taking the woman up on one of her many propositions, and the next I'm brooding and pondering death. Wow, I even forgot all about my vendetta against Hawke and my devious plot to expose to him his little brother's fondness for brothels.

Now that I think about it, it's a pretty screwed up way of getting back at Hawke. Not that I wouldn't want to scar him for life, but it would be really unfair of me to drag Carver into our little feud. I refuse to harm innocents, even during a prank war. Uh, the Sister who had to see Douglas' junk notwithstanding.

My heavy footsteps echo off of the walls as I leave the chamber and enter the musky, incense laced air of the brothel. Just as I enter the main room, I catch sight of Isabela entering a room with a lithe elven man with a head full of pale blond hair. Guess that was the elf I would apparently really get on with. It looks like he's the one that's going to be "getting on" with Isabela. I tug on my cowl and head for the door.

"Mina?"

I freeze.

_That voice… sounds familiar._

Against my better judgment, I turn around and spot the young Hawke sitting in a corner of the room with a goblet. He's alone and I almost faint from relief. Imagine if I had seen him with a girl who works here? My goodness, that would have been awkward. Oh, no. Him waving me over is awkward, _beyond_ awkward. Too bad I'll probably have to see him later so I can't get away with turning around and bolting out of here. And his waving is becoming more insistent and frustrated. If I don't go over now, he'll probably start yelling my name, thinking I don't see him.

Taking a breath, I walk over and weave through sweaty men and women until I get to the blue-eyed swordsman's table. The chair feels extraordinarily heavy as I pull it out and take a seat. It's not nearly as comfortable as the chairs back home, but that could just be because I'm most certainly not comfortable in this bizarre situation. Carver offers me a bashful smile as his eyes dart away from me to look around the room. He seems to make eye contact with someone because he makes a gesture and then returns his gaze to me. "I didn't expect to see you here."

I chuckle, "Likewise."

"Do you… come here often?"

A wide grin spreads across my face and he blushes furiously before taking a swig of whatever he has in his goblet. Certainly not grape juice. Alcohol, maybe? He probably has a bit of liquid courage in him if he had the nerve to flag me down in a brothel and strike up a conversation. On our previous missions, he didn't exactly come across as the chatty type. My grin gets even bigger only because this situation is just so horribly ridiculous. Never in a million years did I think I would be talking to a kid in a brothel. "No," I drawl, "this is my first time."

Pink turns to a rich red that crawls up the tips of his ears. "O-Oh. Yeah, me too."

_Doubt it._

"I came here with Isabela." I clarify, not really understanding why he's blushing, "We took a bath." He gawks, eyes practically bugging out, and I realize my mistake. "Separately!" I almost yell.

Carver shakes his head. "Right, right. So, what did you think of that elf? He sure was rude."

"I guess, yeah. Wait. Who? What did he do?"

" _Fenris_. He said-" Carver leans forward and lowers his voice, "that he hates mages. He started arguing with my brother."

"Oh, right! Sorry, I sort of forgot about that." I rub the back of my neck and smile apologetically. Yeah, because a lot of stuff happened after Hawke got chewed out by an elven warrior. I'm so sorry that I didn't remember the elf's hissy fit after having my friend brutally murdered because I was too stupid to answer the door myself! Gosh, I'm so glad that I'm able to keep most of my volatile temper under wraps in the form of internal rants. Then again, this probably isn't all that healthy. Too bad it's socially unacceptable to yell at people for seemingly no reason, even here in Kirkwall. Besides, if I yell at Carver, Hawke will make sure I fry.

"How could you forget?" The boy fumes, "He disrespected my brother!"

I quirk a brow. "I take it people don't disrespect him too often?"

_Aside from me, of course. But you don't need to know that,_ _kiddo_ _._

"It's not that he argued with him, it's that he got mad at him for being a… _you know_!"

"An ass?" I deadpan.

"Hey, that's my brother you're talking about," he says a bit phlegmatically.

I sigh, "I know, I know. Sorry, sweetheart, I've just had a rough day."

Wow! I didn't think Carver Hawke actually cared all that much for Garrett. I thought that he was too blinded by his obvious jealousy for his older sibling that he couldn't be bothered to defend him. This is interesting but not surprising. If I was in Carver's place and someone was badmouthing my brother, I would defend him as well. Mind you, I wouldn't just softly say "hey, don't say that guys"… Nuh-uh. Mina would have to choke a bitch.

A goblet is placed before me and I jolt out of my thoughts to see a painted woman giving me an appraising look, trying to see what I'm hiding under my cowl. I give her a little smirk and she smiles and walks away with a practiced blush, glancing back at me over her shoulder. She probably thought I was a guy. That wouldn't be the first time, honestly. According to Isabela, when I'm all "covered up" I sort of resemble a scrawny man. I sometimes use that to my advantage to suit my needs.

Across from me, Carver has his brow furrowed and looks like he's dying to say something. I gesture towards the goblet and he seems to realize that this is real life and it's weird to just stare at someone with a constipated expression. "I thought you might like a drink," he explains. "What did you mean about having a bad day? Is it because of what my brother did? Is that why you called him an ass?"

I wince at the memory. "Yes and no. Things just got progressively worse after the job."

"Care to explain?"

_This is weird._

"No thanks, doc. It's all good in the hood."

I haven't had anyone to really confide in since Cheyenne. Well, that's not true. Kiriyama was known to lend an ear when he got fed up with all of my sulking. The man would practically force my troubles out of me by cornering me like an animal and demanding I tell him what was wrong and threaten to take me down to the docks and throw me into the water if I refused. This memory only serves to deepen my depression. Why did I _ever_ confide in my killer?

I take a deep pull from the goblet and discover that it's rum. An appreciative hum escapes me as the fruity but bitter flavor makes my mouth water. My nose itches and I reach up to scratch it, catching Carver's eye. What's with all the staring? I know I look a little weird sometimes, but damn. I don't look _that_ weird. _I'd_ say I'm pretty attractive if you like scars and all that.

Carver frowns. "Your eyes are bleeding!"

_Again? Freakin'_ again _?_

Ripping the handkerchief from my pocket, I rub furiously at my face and inevitably end up with some form of fabric burn. I swear softly to myself and toss the hankie onto my lap before bringing the goblet to my face and drinking like I didn't just burn my face trying to wipe away the blood dripping from my eyes. Was I bleeding from my eyes? Of course not! Who bleeds from their eyes? "That's the drink talking, Carver." I smirk. "Those were just tears. Embarrassing tears of frustration."

He blinks down at his cup before looking back at me. "Why are you crying?"

Wow. That was easy! I didn't even have to go all Jedi on him. I guess he's really been hitting the rum since he got here. I'm not about to lean across the table and ask him to breathe on my face to make sure, though. Offering him my most pathetic face ever, I run my fingertip along the mouth of the goblet and sigh despondently. "Oh, I'm just so mad at your brother for tripping me." I shrug. "You know how that goes. It's always awful when someone humiliates you in front of others."

"I can relate… in a way." The swordsman winces, looking horribly depressed for a moment before drinking his rum. "I used to torture my sister all the time."

"Sister?"

He nods. "Bethany. She was my twin sister."

_Was?_

This is getting a bit heavy. From the past tense and the pained look on his face, I can only assume that this Bethany girl is dead. Oh, Lord. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to have a sibling die. Swirling the deep red liquid in my goblet, I glance up at the boy and see that he's still staring off into space like he's remembering. The respectful thing to do would be to keep quiet, so I do. In fact, I don't even move.

It's like we're both statues sitting at the table until he finally looks at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. "Do you have any siblings?"

"I had a brother." I murmur against the mouth of my goblet, "He was younger than me and tall, like you, and very independent." After that we continue to drink in silence. Knowing that I have a bit of a walk ahead of me in the dangerous streets of Kirkwall, I limit my intake and don't even finish my first drink. Carver, however, knocks back drink after drink after drink until he's practically swaying in his seat. Jeez, I'm probably going to have to help him home. Hopefully Hawke isn't there to accuse me of getting his baby brother drunk. "I think I'll come here for a drink from now on," I say offhandedly as I watch Carver down his sixth cup.

"Why?" He asks far too loudly, "Are you _too good_ for that swill at The Hanged Man?"

I grin. "Yes, actually. Last time I think I drank someone's mucus."

He makes a face that I'm about to laugh at until he starts dry heaving. Then I recoil with a horrified look on my face as I try to find something for him to throw up in. My luck runs out as he spews on the table and the Madam orders us to leave. She gives me a dirty look as I have to pat down Carver's pockets for money. I don't have any! Besides, he _did_ say he was buying mine and he's the one who drank all the others. Throwing the coins on the table, I drag the swordsman out of the brothel and into the street. "Where do you live?" I grunt as my legs shake with the effort to keep us both upright.

"Lowtown." The younger man slurs from his position of using me as an armrest, "You know, you're the first girl I've met who doesn't fawn all over my brother."

"Really? Girls actually fawn over him?" I chuckle breathlessly as I head off towards Lowtown, "Willingly?" I throw him a sardonic smirk which is wasted on him since he isn't even paying attention to me. Well, he's looking at me but he's not really looking at me. We stumble down some steps and almost break our necks but I get us to the bottom safely by giving Carver a poor man's version of a piggy-back ride. Luckily for me, no thugs confront us. They're all probably busy mugging some people who actually have money. Do they have radars for finding people with coin?

"Why're you carrying me?" The swordsman asks suddenly and begins to try and shove me away. "I can walk on my own. I'm _not_ a little boy!"

"Carver. You're drunk." I hiss when he succeeds in smacking me in the jaw, "Ouch! Stop it!"

_Oh, I should just leave you here!_

" _You're_ drunk!"

"Boy! I only had one drink, which I didn't even finish, and _you_ kept knocking 'em back!" I growl and bat his hands away.

He stops fighting me. "What? I _paid_ for that and you didn't even finish it?"

"My, my." I sniff as I jerk him along by the arm and he trips after me, "I didn't know you were such a cheap date, Carver."

"I-I'm not-! I mean… What? Date?" He sputters as he struggles to keep up with my quick pace.

_Uh-oh! I think I broke his brain._

My ego takes satisfaction in the fact that he's now blushing and giving me these questioning looks, trying desperately to catch my eye without having to say anything. The night sky is inky and smoggy, blotting out most of the stars and limiting the light that filters down from the moon. Everything is bathed in an eerie blue light that makes the buildings look haunted and the alleys look foreboding. Carver's blush, though, is made all the more obvious.

Statuesque mansions and tidy roads give way to dilapidated houses and uneven cobblestones. I almost roll my ankle at one point and swear harshly when Carver falls to his knees after slamming into my back. He gives me a sheepish look and I chuckle and internally berate myself for being such a sucker for that puppy look. After helping him up, I eye the desolate road warily and mentally take note that my place is just around the corner. "Okay, so we're in Lowtown. Where exactly do you live?" I ask as I glance back at him, making him flinch.

"Um… There!" Carver points down the road in the direction of my place.

My heart sinks. "A-Are you sure?"

He nods fervently. "Of course! I've been living there a year, I know where I live!"

"Right."

_Fuuuuudge!_

Feet dragging along the road, I pull the drunken swordsman after me as I keep looking around frantically like Hawke might pop up at any moment. Am I afraid of that guy? No! I'm not! Well… maybe just a little. The mage is so incredibly intimidating and his presence simply demands respect. He's a talented fighter and a noble leader. Only a fool would defy his orders and disrespect him. Huh, and _I'm_ that fool.

"There. Right there."

My heart just about implodes when I realize that Carver is pointing to the place directly across from mine. The home has a staircase leading up to it unlike mine and actually looks a lot cleaner. It also looks like it only has one floor and a cellar as opposed to the two floors with no cellar that I've become accustomed to. The Hawke home looks quaint and homey and as I sneak a look back at the home I used to share with two others, my stomach clenches when I see that the place appears to be the epitome of lifelessness.

"All right. Let's get you home," I sigh as we begin to ascend the steps. It's an immense relief to have the boy safe and sound on his own doorstep. Alcohol addled hands fumble for a key and I end up being the one to insert it and open the door. Filth and rotting meat is what I smell almost immediately before I find myself crashing onto my back with a bear on my chest. A thick, slobbery tongue licks me from my chin up to my forehead and I gag as I get a bit of it in my mouth when I scream in surprise.

_Holy crap! I forgot how ridiculously huge Mabaris are!_

"Biscuit!" Carver scolds but makes no move to help me.

"H-Hey there!" I mumble as I try not to open my mouth too wide as the large dog continues his assault on my face, "You're sort of crushing me, boy!" The dog barks happily and instead of getting off of me, he throws all of his weight down to lie on me like I'm some sort of human pillow. My frown is met with a doggy grin so I instead turn my glare to the blue-eyed swordsman who still hasn't done anything to remove his furry friend from my person. I swear I can hear my ribcage creaking as the large animal crosses his paws on my collarbone in an oddly dainty fashion.

"Although this is the most action I've got in months, please get your dog off of me," I sneer, unable to make any threatening gestures at the young man what with my hands trapped between my stomach and the dog.

"Oh, right. Sorry," Carver mumbles as he tugs the dog away by his leather collar. Biscuit whines softly and looks back at me with two large, pitiful brown eyes as he's dragged back into the house. I'm sure if his tail was larger than a nub, it would be between his legs as the young man scolds him about jumping on visitors. Carver returns to the doorway and I can see Biscuit watching me from behind him. Whenever I make eye contact with the dog, his nub tail starts to wag so hard that it moves his entire body. I snort. Carver sighs, "Thanks for helping me out."

"It wasn't any trouble," I lie as I straighten out my shirt and wipe the dog hair from my pants. "I was happy to have some drinking company. Thanks for the rum, by the way. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

Carver nods his head slowly and I give him a wink before turning on my heel and descending the steps. The sound of the heavy wooden door shutting signals to me that it's okay to run across the little courtyard and get home. Wait. Why am I being such a spaz? Hawke is the one I have an issue with and he already knows where I live. Just as I reach the door, I hear a despondent howl come from the Hawke place and start sniggering.

_Biscuit? Really, Hawke?_

But my laughter stops when I realize that it could have been Bethany who named the dog. And thinking about Bethany makes me think about Mike and I wonder how he's doing without me. Stomach and heart twisting painfully, I open the already unlocked door after taking note that the lock has been replaced. I guess that's what Isabela meant when she said she would have everything taken care of. Oh, wait… No. That's not all that she had fixed.

An orange light fills the small space, illuminating everything. The house is squared away, not a drop of blood remains and both of the bodies are gone. My armoire has been replaced with a sturdier, newer looking piece that now houses my and Kiriyama's clothes. Everything smells strange; clean but not sterile, home but not home. A warm fire burns but I don't feel its warmth. This place is dead.

I close the door behind me and just lean against it for a while before going and sitting at the table. Hanging on the wall, between the two windows with their shutters closed tight, is the portrait of Kiri. An attempt was made to clean off the blood but it was unsuccessful, tainting the pallor of his skin from his right eye down to the left side of his angular jaw like some parody of my own scar. It isn't funny but I laugh anyway.

I laugh and laugh as I quickly cross the room and rip the painting from the wall before collapsing back onto a chair. The blood that falls from my own eyes drips down onto his frozen face, pooling until that damnable visage is obscured with red. I'm crying now, hysterically. Right now I'm just so glad that I sent Isabela on her way. I'm so glad that I left Carver at his place. This moment of weakness… I need at least this to myself.

"Mina?" My head snaps up so fast that it hurts my neck. There in the doorway, looking so painfully uncomfortable and disheveled, is Garrett Hawke. A little frown pouts out his lower lip and creases his brow. He's dressed in a dark red tunic and black cloak, easily blending into the darkness outside. He steps inside and shuts the door behind himself with a soft thud. He doesn't even wait to be asked to come inside. 

"How did you get in here?" I bark, rubbing the snot and blood from my face with the already bloodied handkerchief.

"The door was unlocked." He shrugs stiffly. "I just came by to thank you for bringing Carver home. It was getting late and I was starting to wonder what was keeping him so long."

"Yeah, no problem." I grumble at the floor.

_Please, just leave!_

"I would also like to thank you for coming along on the job tonight."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!" I snap and cringe when I look up to find him glowering. "I'm just tired. Okay? It's late and I need to go to bed."

He eyes me critically before saying, "You've changed your clothes."

"Yes. I have."

"Why?"

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Because I'm a woman who likes a little variety in her life, all right? Is that such a crime? I didn't know it was illegal to change your clothes when you're going out for drinks!"

_Yeah, that didn't sound defensive at all._

"Yes, the _variety_ you enjoy was made very much apparent when you decided to go to a brothel," the golden-eyed mage drawls as he crosses his arms and fixes me with a disapproving stare.

_What the flying fudgsicles?_

I twitch. "Are you seriously judging me right now, Hawke? What does it matter if I go to a brothel? In fact, how did you even _know_ that?" He's quiet and I blow up. All of the sadness and frustration that has been slowly building up inside finally makes me erupt. I don't even feel bad about venting on him since he's the cause of most of my anger. Hands clenching into tight fists, I narrow my eyes and swallow hard. "Are you actually having me followed or are you doing it yourself? You nut! How in the world is that okay?" I fume, "I'm a grown woman. What I do on my own time is _none_ of your business!"

"It isn't appropriate behavior-"

"Enough of your 'appropriate behavior' bullshit! Was it appropriate for you to trip me during battle? Sure you got your laughs, but I could've been injured or _killed_! Was it appropriate to spy on me? Oh, and it's okay for your brother to go to a cat house and for Isabela to go as well? I'm sure you already know about where they spend their nights since you seem to _love_ being in everyone's business." I seethe as I stand up to my full and not-so-intimidating height, "Are you my father? What I do isn't any of your concern, Hawke!"

"It _is_ my concern when I'm considering who I should take along for jobs. It _is_ my business to know what my associates do when deciding whether or not to allow them anywhere near my family." He takes a menacing step closer but I don't back down. "Your personal life shows a lot about who you are, Mina. What you do behind closed doors is a more accurate representation of who you are than the mask you wear in public."

Chest heaving, I simply watch the man. Dammit. I completely understand where he's coming from as someone who has a lot to hide and is wary of whom I trust, but that doesn't mean I agree to have my personal life put under a microscope just so he can sleep easy at night. And why does it feel like I'm the only one being put on blast by this guy? I'm 100% sure Varric dabbles in shady business but Hawke seems to let the dwarf do as he pleases without so much as a reprimanding look or a wag of his finger.

_That's because he finds Varric charming and only finds you annoying._

"So, what? Are you going to sneak into my home whenever it pleases you so you can figure out what kind of person I am? Are you going to watch me sleep? Watch me eat? Watch me bathe? Will the way I chew bread tell you all about my morals? Will the way I take a piss show you if I'm worthy of your trust or not?" I shake my head and laugh bitterly. "Though you may pride yourself on being able to sort out the good from the bad, your methods are downright stupid."

The mage glares. "You took my words out of context. That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, hm? Are you telling me that you didn't mean to insult me? Because, quite honestly, I can't think of any other meaning that would be less rude."

"I'm saying that you should be conscientious of how you present yourself. It's fine for Isabela to go to The Blooming Rose because that's the type of person that she conducts herself as. And Carver-" he grimaces a bit but I still catch it, "is a young man who doesn't know any better. Seeking pleasure from paid women is not becoming of you." And it's like Hawke just seems dead set on digging that grave deeper and deeper. 

"How would you know what suits me or not? I've known you for, what, less than a week? Not even my own _mother_ knows what befits me." At this he looks a bit sad and I wave him off angrily, "Oh, don't go pitying me, Hawke! I'll bed everyone in Kirkwall if I want!"

_A disgusting notion, but I think he gets the idea._

"Mina-"

"Now, get out." I sigh tiredly and point at the door, "You've said your piece and I've been patient enough to listen."

Golden eyes bore into me like he's looking into my soul. Those molten lava eyes dart down to my bloody handkerchief before raking over my face. In a flash I turn around and begin to wipe away the blood streaks that mar my cheeks and rim my eyes. Holy hell! Was I arguing with him the entire time with my face a bloody mess? Shit! Ah, well… I always knew I wouldn't be able to earn his trust. This just seals the deal.

"Hawke." I warn, "Leave while I'm still being nice about it."

"Thank you again for watching over Carver," he says quietly before I hear the door open and close.

I swallow hard and shoot a look over my shoulder just to be sure that he's gone and not trying to pull a fast one on me. When I confirm that he really did leave (after looking under the beds) I lock the door and get into my sleeping gown before collapsing face first onto my bed. A sharp pain shoots through my cheekbone and the smell of paint and metal fills my nose. Pushing myself onto my elbows, I see that Bartlett's gold rings were placed on my bed. I cry myself to sleep.


	21. Kiriyama: 06. Creep

**Kiriyama: 06. Creep**

"Five iron rods, more timber, dragon scale gloves and ink? This is an odd list," I murmur as I take the scrap from the mage's boney hand as well as the pouch of coins.

He gives me a bleak smile. "Yes it is, isn't it? Now, hurry along. I want you back quickly."

It's strange how he seems so _stressed_ even after the ritual was a success. The mage has been fidgety ever since talking to Michael and has yet to stop pacing with his nose shoved in that damned book of his- the one he won't let me anywhere near, the one I'm sure holds all of the information that I need. When I came into the study after finding the boy some clothes, the mage had immediately asked if I had given Michael a room yet. When I told him that I hadn't, he nearly exploded in a fit of rage and demanded I give the boy a room in the basement as opposed to one of the many on this floor.

I left to do just that after Carrow made sure I took blankets and pillows for Michael and nothing else. Michael had been sitting in the kitchen, staring at one of the many corpses on the grimy floor. He was strangely calm about everything that was going on. Everything is strange. One would think that Carrow would _want_ the blood relative of Mina close at hand and that Michael would be having some sort of mental breakdown. But no, Carrow wants Michael as far away as possible and Michael seems almost apathetic to the entire situation. It's very, very bizarre.

I shove the list into my pocket and shrug. "I don't think the armor salesman has dragon scale gloves."

"Then go and kill a dragon and have the blacksmith make it," Carrow snaps, so exasperated and like that's not a huge bill to fill. "Or do I have to do that myself, as well?"

Kill a dragon? Somehow, I don't think that's going to be quite as easy as Carrow makes it sound. Though I'm confident in my fighting skills, I don't think I have it in me to slay a dragon all on my own. Nevertheless, I nod my head and start to leave the room; feeling the mage's eyes on my back the entire time until I get to the door. Then the man clears his throat and I look over my shoulder. His brow is furrowed and he's hugging his book to his chest. He looks like a frightened little child on the first day of pre-school.

"Would you check on Michael before you go? Make sure he's adjusting well." He gives me an expectant look before raising an eyebrow and waving me away. " _Well_? Go on!"

Chin dipping down in a curt nod, I close the door behind myself and head down to the basement. Things have gotten complicated. If the ritual hadn't worked, I would've simply gone back to trying to sniff out this mystery. But since it _did_ work and it's Michael Adler who was summoned, _Mina's younger brother_ , I can't just let him stay here considering Carrow's obsession with the kid's sister. Leaving him here spells doom, or so it seems.

The air is cool and humid down in the basement but when I reach Michael, he's taking off the heavy coat I had given him to protect against the cold Fereldan weather. "Hello, Steven," he murmurs as he shucks off his fur-lined boots before sitting on his cot. "What news do you have about getting me to my sister? Or have you decided to be this man's lackey for the rest of your unnatural born life since he 'controls' you?"

"I'm just here to check on you," I reply curtly, ignoring the barb. "I have some errands to run for Carrow. But when I get back we should have time to make plans since he'll be occupied with his own affairs."

"Errands?" He laughs, "Wow, he certainly has you whipped. What are you getting, his crocheting magazines?"

What Mina had said about her brother possibly being a bully is starting to make a whole lotta sense right now. Mina is a pain when provoked- even if you provoke her unwittingly- but Michael is a pain simply if he doesn't like you. And he seems like the kind of person who can come up with a million reasons to not like someone without even talking to them first. Michael Adler is the type of person that I prefer to avoid.

His muscular frame is propped up against the wall as he stretches his legs out and crosses his arms across his chest. Dark eyes watch me in contemptuous boredom, silently ordering me to get out of his sight before he loses his temper. Thin lips- so unlike his sister's- are pulled into a grimace like the mere sight of me makes him ill. At least if this was Mina, she would pretend like she gives a damn instead of exhibiting this display of blatant dislike that I'm unaccustomed to. Still, it's not like I can exactly _blame him_ for his dislike. It's not like I didn't _earn it_. It's this thought that keeps my tone even.

"Ink and dragon scale gloves, among other things."

The teen perks up. "Dragon scale gloves? Where are you going to get something like that? Surely an item like that isn't common."

Shrugging, I give him a curious look. "I don't know. I'll have to kill a dragon to get the scales first, I suppose. Then I guess I'll go to the local blacksmith and have the gloves made."

"Do you know where you can find a dragon?" I shake my head and he continues, "Try a mountainous region. Where are we, at the moment?"

"Amaranthine. Just off the coast of the Waking Sea, actually."

The glimmer of recognition in his eyes confuses me. I don't know if it's "Amaranthine" or "the Waking Sea" that sparks that knowing look in his eye, but it wouldn't make much sense if it was one or the other; _none of this_ should sound familiar to him. Leaning forward, he narrows his eyes up at me and taps his fingers on his knee. I've seen that look before. That look says, "I'm about to ask you for a huge favor but I'm going to make it seem like I'm the one doing the favor." Mina uses it all the time. Reverse psychology and other mind games _aren't_ things that I'm easy prey to. Sometimes, though, it's just easier to play along.

"If you take me with you, I can help you find a dragon."

"And how exactly would _you_ know where to find one?" I ask suspiciously.

One broad shoulder comes up in a half-shrug. "I read a lot of fantasy novels and books about mythological creatures as a kid. Dragons usually dwell in mountains. Are there any mountains near here?"

Thinking back to the world map that I have almost completely memorized from my travels, I say, "The Frostback Mountains is the closest mountain range near here."

He nods like I answered a question he knew the answer to all along. "Good. When can we leave?"

"We?" I snort. The gall of this kid. "I highly doubt that blond bastard will just let us both walk right out from under his nose."

"And why wouldn't he? The mage wants dragon scale gloves, we need dragon scales, dragons reside in mountains and the closest mountains are the Frostback Mountains. _Therefore_ we need to travel there for him to have his fancy little gloves." Michael smirks like a conman. "It's only logical that we both go. What? Does he expect you to slay a dragon all on your own?" Those dark eyes roll and he waves me off. "Go and tell him that you and I are _both_ going."

Without a word, I leave the boy in his tiny cell of a bedroom just as he starts to put all of his heavy winter clothes back on. Carrow can't possibly refute the boy's logic, not that it's infallible, but simply because it's so very obvious that the mage doesn't want Michael anywhere _near_ him. Besides, the knowledge that Michael has of mythical creatures (however tenuous that might actually be) will definitely be helpful on this journey.

I'm in front of the study door before I know it and I mentally prepare myself for whatever tirade the mage will go on when I present to him this new idea. Knocking twice, I enter without having to be told and wait just beyond the threshold. Carrow is hunched over a scroll, his quill darting back and forth as he writes at lightning speed. Bright blue eyes shoot between his writing and the text next to him a few times before he makes a scribble and looks up at me. Appraising eyes rake over me from head to toe before he frowns.

"Finished so soon? I should think not, seeing as how you don't have any of my required items in your possession."

"There's been a change of plans. I want to take Michael with me, seeing as how he knows a thing or two about dragons."

"Absolutely not! I-"

"It's either this, or I leave you _alone_ with Michael for who knows how long while I try to find and kill a dragon all on my own."

His argument seems to get lodged in his throat as his eyes widen marginally. In a flash, those widened eyes narrow into two glistening slits as the mage stands up from his chair and crosses his arms. "And how, pray tell, do you expect to travel with the boy? Will you teleport and show him your amazing ability? Are you daft?"

I frown in response. "What exactly are you getting at, Carrow?"

Turning his body, he snatches up the parchment he was writing on and taps on it with one of his long, boney fingers. From what I can see of the scroll, there's a large circle drawn on it with a bunch of scribbling all around the circle. A haphazard 'X' crosses out the scribbles on the right side of the circle where a palm was drawn while the top image, the bottom, and the left are all circled. The topmost image is of an eye, the bottom is some sort of cloud, and the left image is what looks like a giant triangle with a smaller triangle inside it.

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?"

"Yes," the mage snaps. "It should mean _a lot_ to you. I'll let you and the boy travel together, but only if you swear not to use your ability anywhere _near_ him. Now, you may be thinking to yourself that you shall teleport to wherever you are going just to spite me, but that would be _very foolish_. If you know what is good for you, Kiriyama, and if you want to live to see another day you will not use your ability near that boy. Do you understand?"

"Wh-"

"Do you understand?"

That ashen skin of his looks even paler as he watches me with an unwavering gaze. He doesn't even try to compel me into following his orders. There's something akin to fear in those pale blue eyes and it increases tenfold when something heavy slams down onto my shoulder. Glancing back, I see Michael watching Carrow with an odd look before he looks at me and raises his eyebrows in question. He pats my shoulder once before dropping his hand back down to his side.

"I got changed pretty quickly. So, are we going or what?"

I turn my gaze back onto Carrow. "Yes."

We leave the mage standing there like a statue, that scroll pressed tightly to his chest as he watches us go. The air is chilly and the sun is high in the sky when we start down the road to town. I barely pay attention as Michael barters with the blacksmith for a sword, using the coin Carrow had given me. He picks out all of our traveling supplies with curious ease and I'm surprised to find that he seems to know just what to pack from tents to traps.

I'm tempted to teleport us to the mountains to save us the tiresome journey, but something about the way Carrow looked at Michael keeps me from doing it. We're silent as we travel down the road and I can only assume that Michael is thinking of his sister as I think over the mage's foreboding words. Glancing at the boy from the corner of my eye, I wonder what could possibly be so dangerous about him.


	22. Hero Complex

**16\. Hero Complex**

Mourning, for me, is especially burdensome. I think in all my twenty-one years I've lost two great-aunts, one great-uncle, a handful of cousins, several beta fish, and a dog. Due to lack of funds to travel to and stay in Mexico to actually get to know said deceased relatives, I never knew any of them outside of awkward holiday phone calls in which my broken Spanish only served to frustrate them. I never had any "emotional bond" with my asshole fish and the dog was Uncle Carl's yappy companion who had a fondness for eating couch stuffing- he died doing what he loved. So, what I'm trying to get at is that I _don't know how_ to mourn.

Bart was a friend. An actual _friend_. A friend who I would speak to in the dead of night about trivial things like the weather and the people who moved into the neighborhood adjacent to us who I swore up and down were gangbangers but who Bartlett _insisted_ were just really fond of moving large crates in and out of their house at odd hours. We'd talk about stuff that went over my head, like painting techniques and politics. We laughed. We talked. But now the house is quiet. I even found myself waking up like clockwork at about four in the morning for one of our chats, completely forgetting what had happened the previous night.

So, I sleep to ignore the silence. Or try to, anyway. I'd really, really love to _keep_ sleeping but someone is pounding on my door. No light filters in through the cracks in the shutters so I can only guess that I've either slept through the day or it's early morning. A clinking sound catches my attention as I roll over onto one side to stare at the door and the two shadows that peek under the door. Sharp coldness against my upper arm causes my skin to break out into goose bumps as something digs into my elbow.

Shifting with a soft swear, I grapple at whatever it is that's causing me discomfort and wind up with a handful of metal. In the darkness I can barely make out six glittering circles of gold; Bartlett's rings. All I can do is stare and think of beta fish. My nose and eyes burn and I internally berate myself for even bothering to wake up at all. The insistent banging on the door snaps me out of my daze and I hurry to grab one of my daggers and light a candle.

The lonely room is washed in a light that is far too warm. That warm light dares to try and be comforting and I'm tempted to snuff out the flame for a moment or, better yet, throw the damn candle across the room. But then I think about how stupid it would be if I accidentally set the friggin' house on fire. Wetness touches my upper lip and I wipe my nose with the back of my arm, too flustered by having visitors right now to bother with a handkerchief. Bravado steeling my nerves, I swing open the door and keep the dagger behind my back.

"Hello, Mina!"

_The funk?_

I blink a few times at the young elf standing on my doorstep. Bright green eyes bore into me as Merrill ducks her head in greeting. A large pack is strapped to her back and an equally large smile is plastered onto her face. Behind her stands a slightly peeved looking Anders. His hair is in disarray and his robes are rumpled and stained. They're polar opposites but the faint light shining down on them makes them both look equally ridiculous for being out and about at such an ungodly hour. "Merrill? Anders? What are you two doing here?" I ask hoarsely.

"Hawke wanted me and Anders to go up to Sundermount to look for some Ironbark. He asked that we take someone with a sword with us and I thought it would be fun if we went together! I would have asked you last night but you weren't home." Merrill beams before getting distracted by something, cheeks blushing prettily. "Oh! Your dress is lovely! Is it, um, supposed to be see-through?"

_Can we not?_

Quickly, I hide my body behind the door and frown, "Uh… come in, I guess. I need to get dressed, as you can plainly see- Don't look!"

Despite looking dead tired, Anders sniggers into the back of his hand and the two enter the house. I steal away into the bathroom to change behind the little alcove's makeshift curtain after gathering some clothes. As I pull on fresh smalls and try making myself smell less like agony and Carver's vomit (same thing) with a fancy spray Bart had got me for my "nameday," I listen to the two mages talk for a moment before everything goes eerily silent. When I'm done, I come out to find Anders staring at the bloodied portrait of Kiriyama and Merrill is nowhere to be found. Maybe she's hiding under one of the beds?

"Who is this?" The blond asks.

"Oh, that?" I titter while nervously fidgeting with my floral-scented cowl. "I found that painting at the bazaar and thought it looked nice. I figured it would liven up the place a bit."

The mage quirks a blond eyebrow, lips pulled into a bland frown. "Is it even possible to be that terrible at lying?"

I pout. "What?"

Anders gestures around the room vaguely. "For starters, there are murals all over these walls; not an inch of the original wall is uncovered so you _hardly_ need to find anything to decorate. And secondly, why would you pick this picture," he shakes the painting before my face and I snatch it from him, "of a scowling and bloody man to 'liven up' your home? In my opinion, this picture just makes me feel like I'm being interrogated. Or I just killed someone." He shrugs his feathery mantle as he concludes his assessment.

I always felt that way too, when Kiri would make that face- like I was being interrogated. One glance at the painting in my hands and I realize I should throw it away. I mean, it's all covered in blood and I don't want to have to see Steven Kiriyama's face every single time I come home like a constant reminder that I failed Bart. Kiri had told me over and over to ditch the man and yet I'd insisted that I could provide for us. If I hand't been hanging around him, Elin never would have killed him. A twinge in my gut has me tossing the picture onto the table. I turn to the overly inquisitive mage. "Hey, Anders?" I ask sweetly as I sit on my bed and start tugging on my boots.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

He snorts, "You're a very gracious host."

"I try."

"But seriously, he's very attractive." Anders gives me a look so pointed that I nearly cut myself on it.

The shit kinda remark is that? Yeah, Kiriyama is attractive, but his good looks sorta diminished for me when he gutted me and then ditched me without so much as a mic drop. Though I had surprisingly got over the initial bit of murder (by rationalizing the hell out of his motives and recalling every time I imagined killing some jackrabbit for being an ass) and found myself growing fond of the serpent's particular brand of cool detachment, his daddy-going-to-the-cornerstore-for-milk act put that all on ice.

With all of this in mind, I find myself fumbling for a response that doesn't have me outright denying Kiri's conventionally handsome face or going off on a tangent about him ditching me that will ultimately lead to the exposure of my abandonment issues to the mage who already has enough dirt on me to bury me alive. "Yeah, if you're into that whole rude… face…" I trail off awkwardly and pretend to rub dirt off my boot.

_Ten outta ten._

"Right," Anders drawls before stepping over to me and carefully reaching out to grab my ungloved hand. Brown eyes appraise the scab critically, turning my hand this way and that for a better angle. "Your wound seems to be healing nicely."

"Yes. Thanks for that."

He releases my hand and looks at me seriously. "Well, I have something that I would like to discuss with you. Remember what I said about my help with your blood mage trouble coming at a price?"

 _Oh, shit._ _Here it comes._

"Yeah?" I purse my lips.

"I want to call in a favor."

It's an effort not to stand up, raise my hands to the sky and shout: "I freakin' knew it!" Like I said before: in Kirkwall, everyone wants something from someone. If you think someone won't wave it in your face that they helped you out of a tight spot, you're dead wrong. People won't hesitate to cash in their chips if you can do something to benefit them in some way. They're shameless like that. Desperate, really. And Anders the Possessed Mage is a desperate, desperate man. It's written in the hard lines on his brow and the troubled look in his eyes. And trust me, I've dealt with my fair share of desperate men. Heck, _I'm_ even blackmailing a couple of people. But that's a story for another time. 

I cast the blond a curious look, hiding my unease under a pretty smile. "Oh, really? What kind of favor? Need me to shake some Templars off your tail? 'Cause just so you know, I don't deal with those bucket heads… They make me twitchy."

His lips quirk into a tense smile. "You and me both, but no. It's about Merrill."

_Whoa. Didn't see that one coming._

"Merrill?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes. You see," Anders frowns gravely like he's about to give me the worst news of my life, "she's a _blood mage_."

I blink. "Yeah? And?"

" _And_?" He laughs disbelievingly at my dismissive tone. "She's dangerous! Blood magic is the vilest magic to ever be used! I want you to keep an eye on her. I fear she may be neck-deep in trouble what with her demons and that mirror of hers."

I'm starting to feel a bit like a parrot when I ask, "Mirror? What mirror?"

Anders surveys me with a critical eye. "The Eluvian. She showed it to me and Hawke when we went to pick her up to go out on a job. She was awfully proud of it, but Hawke and I _both_ agree that there's something off about that thing."

Trying not to shift uncomfortably under his gaze, I ask the dreaded question, "So, why are you telling me this? I thought your favor would be a bit more..." I wave my hand about listlessly, " _personal_. Like washing your clothes for a week or something."

Anders' hackles are all raised as he practically spits, "It _is_ personal. If she unleashes something terrible, she'll set mages back centuries! She'll just give people like Knight-Commander Meredith an excuse to start murdering mages out in the streets again or something worse than locking us all up in the Circle- like making _all_ mages _Tranquil_!" He spits the word like a slur.

And there's the rub. _Knight-Commander_ Meredith. She's a tall woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. Pretty lady, that Knight-Commander, but she's also off her damn rocker. Her eyes just scream crazy cat lady and the way she carries herself simply oozes a desire for power- totally had a third grade bitch of a teacher like her once. I'm not into Kirkwall politics so I'm not exactly sure how much power that fancy title of Meredith's holds, but apparently it's not enough for dear old Merry.

"Well, she seems nice enough." I shrug and hasten to clarify. "Merrill, not Meredith. I've never personally met the Knight-Commander. From what I saw when she was standing on her soapbox giving a hate speech, she has really pretty hair. I like the way it _curls_."

The blond mage glares and doesn't even laugh. "Did you not hear anything that I just said? She uses blood magic, Mina! You should _hate_ her, not sit around doing her hair and talking about shoes!"

"I'm not an idiot, Anders." I scoff, "First off, Merrill doesn't even _wear_ shoes. Merrill is sweet, innoce-"

Brown eyes sear my flesh. "Don't you _dare_ say innocent. There's nothing innocent about a blood mage. You should know that better than anyone else."

Something in my head clicks. I think it's the on-off switch for my joking personality. Is this how it's going to be with us? Anders learns about one snippet of my life and he thinks he knows my whole damn story? Yeah, Carrow tortured and imprisoned me. Yeah, I'll admit that I had my reservations about Merrill upon first learning of her affinity for blood magic. And though I've painted in broad strokes before (what with my slight phobia of mages), I'm not about that now. Merrill _isn't_ Carrow. No amount of pestering from Anders will change that. Only Merrill can.

"Yeah, okay! I got it!" Not wanting to drag this out for any longer, I huff and get to my feet. "I'll keep an eye on her, damn. Not like I wasn't going to do that anyway."

Anders rolls his eyes at my antics but looks relieved. "If you were going to do it, then why bother arguing with me?"

"Because you were coming across like a stuck-up ass about the whole thing, that's why." I snap. Crossing my arms, I give him a suspicious look. "So, if you don't like her so much, why bother working with her?"

"Hawke asked me to." Is his semi-evasive response.

_Is Hawke a god or something?_

"Hawke asked you or Hawke _told_ you?"

"He asked." Anders insists with a frown. "Why the snark? Don't you like him?"

Hawke's little midnight lecture is still fresh in my mind as I spit, "I like him about as much as you like Merrill. And speaking of your dislike for her, why don't you sit this job out? You look like a mess, no offense, and I'm sure you could go for some sleep." Shoulders shrug dispassionately. "Besides, you can rest easy knowing that I'll have an eye on her since you've now employed me as your spy."

He sighs, "You're _not_ a spy. I'm not asking you to invade her privacy… Well, actually-"

"Nope!" I hold up a hand and wiggle my eyebrows, "You already said that you aren't asking me to creep around her house, so I won't do it. It came out of _your_ mouth! No takesie backsies!"

The pretty mage has his face all pinched up like he's about to complain when a little shriek from upstairs makes us both jump. I look up at the ceiling, the source of the scream having come from upstairs. I'm bounding up the stairs to Bart's studio for the first time in my life and it feels weird, _wrong_ even. The steps creak and I fear they might cave in and eat my leg but I make it up onto the landing with no trouble. The door is wide open and from what I can see, so are the shutters since the room is bathed in pale blue light.

_It's absolutely beautiful._

Though the room is crammed full of canvases and junk, the walls, which are painted like a rich forest- little woodland animals included- serve as a pleasant distraction from the mess. Droplets of rain bead on the painted leaves and blades of grass but the sky is only slightly cloudy- a swirl of grays and blues. A partially hidden tent is pitched amongst the undergrowth and a person sits outside of it. Walking closer, I carefully examine the figure and find that it's a young man with wild hair and equally wild eyes. He sort of looks familiar…

"Oh, Mina! This is breathtaking!" An airy voice coos from behind me. "Did you paint all of this yourself?"

"Huh? Oh, no. My friend did." I reply flippantly and turn away from the figure despite the nagging feeling I'm getting in my gut. "He passed away recently."

The cool, detached tone that I take concerning Bart's very recent death obviously doesn't sit well with either of my magical companions. The healer watches me with an unreadable expression, posture as guarded as his face. Merrill, on the other hand, wears her concern on her shoulder. In fact, she looks like she wants to say a few things to me, but only manages to stammer out a pathetic, "I-I'm sorry." The little elf blushes, looking ashamed of herself.

"Ah, no harm no foul." I shrug. "Everyone dies."

"That's rather cynical." Anders states as he walks up to the other mage and snatches something from behind her back. "What's this?"

Merrill blushes harder. "I found it."

"Odd."

_Odd? What's odd?_

Peeking around the mage's feathery shoulder, I catch sight of… myself? I blink several times to be sure I'm not hallucinating. Nope. It's me. Well, me before all of this. It's me with my natural hair color and without the scars. I look younger, more carefree with my hair falling in inky black curls to my shoulders as I lean against a pillar of wood. The water at my feet is murky and the beach is rocky with bits of litter. I'm in Galveston. I remember that trip. It was the only time I ever went to the beach of my own free will with Mike. This _is_ odd but Anders doesn't know how odd it really is.

"That's you, right Mina?" Merrill asks curiously as she glances up at my now hidden hair.

"Uh, yeah."

"What are you wearing?" The other mage questions.

"It's for swimming." I deadpan as I stare at the orange one-piece.

God, too bad this isn't a hallucination. Whatever possessed me to think that was a pretty swimsuit must have been the most evil thing in the world. But that's beside the point. How the hell did  _Bartlett_ paint this? Either he has one hell of an imagination or there was something he didn't tell me about himself. Was he some sort of psychic? I don't believe in any of that stuff, but anything is possible in this trippy place. I take the picture from Anders and toss it back onto Bartlett's cluttered desk.

 _Not like I'm gonna get any answers from the dead_ _._

I give the two a large, fake smile. "Let's get this over with."

Two honey eyes burn into me. "I'll take you up on your offer, Mina. Good luck." Anders inclines his head towards me and turns on his heel.

 _W_ _elp_ _._ _There go the free heals._

Merrill watches with a furrowed brow as the tall mage leaves the room. She continues to stare at the doorway until the sound of the front door opening and closing reaches our ears. Emerald eyes flick over towards me and I offer her a warm grin which she returns eagerly before taking one last glance around the studio and descending the steps to the ground floor. I'm a bit irritated that the steps don't even utter the smallest squeak beneath her semi-bare feet. "Why did Anders leave?" The elf asks as I follow her down.

"He's very tired. I told him to take the day off." I lie easily to the back of her head.

"And he listened? That's very odd." She hums as she twirls on her heel to watch me gather supplies. "He seems to like doing things for Hawke. Ever since I came to Kirkwall, I've seen him following Hawke around on jobs when he isn't at his clinic, giving him puppy eyes. But I can't blame him, _everyone_ likes Hawke."

_Psh! Hardly._

I find myself pursing my lips. The elf gives me a big, warm smile and I wonder if we're talking about the same Hawke here. How the flying frick does Merrill like that guy after he's been so chilly toward her? Then again, it's not like I'm around them all the time so they could be building a nice little friendship when I'm not there. I guess Hawke was able to look beyond the cute elf's blood magic and- Wait... Anders has _the hots_ for that inconsiderate jerk? Seriously? Sure, Hawke is hot (I grudgingly admit), but Anders can do _so_ much better.

Maybe Anders has thick skin and I judged him too quickly, but I don't think any living thing is compatible with that robotic mage. Funny how Anders can tolerate some uppity elitist jerk but he despises the sweet Dalish elf. Anders must be some sort of masochist if he prefers the company of assholes. Then again, I haven't come across too many kind folk here in Kirkwall. They must be in short supply and the healer is just taking what he can get. "Like a lovesick puppy, huh?" I snort as I heft my pack over my shoulder, "But enough about his love life, it's making me think about my nonexistent one."

Merrill blushes bright red at that and stutters, "A-Ah, I didn't mean t-to…" Green eyes stare at the floor, "Yes, I mean… We should go, yes."

Giggling into my cowl, I open the door and sweep my arm in an elegant manner for her to exit. Merrill's blush darkens to the point that I think she might combust and she ducks her head before scampering out. After locking the door, I follow her down the road and we're silent during the entire journey leaving Kirkwall. The streets are mostly dead, the average criminal opting not to attack us when they spot the large blade on my back. Intimidation is one of the many reasons why I love my Lord.

The transition from stone and chains to dirt and grass is one that I'll never get used to. There isn't much plant life in Kirkwall aside from restricted gardens, the Alienage tree, and the odd potted plant kept by snooty nobles who think owning a little shrub is _simply droll_. Merrill seems to be comfortable in this familiar territory, though, because she starts talking nonstop once we get on the path to Sundermount and she gets the feel of soft grass and sharp rock beneath her feet.

We talk about books and the occasional cat that the elven mage has spotted during her stay in the city. She has a certain fondness for Hawke's playful Mabari and mentions how she would like one of her own. Foolishly, I end up promising to get her one and now she's riddling off a list of potential Mabari pup names that can be for either a girl or a boy. Suppose I'll have to find someone who's selling Mabari puppies in or near the city. Damn!

"When we get to the Dalish camp, I'll wait outside while you ask about the Ironbark."

_Aw, hell no!_

"The what?" I ask frantically, thrown off by the abrupt change in subject. "Wait, why do _I_ have to go in there by myself?"

A sad little frown dances across her features before she looks away, "I don't want them to think that I've come crawling back. It would look rather pathetic if I come over just to ask them for help when I haven't even been gone for all that long."

It's rather obvious that the girl is on bad terms with her clan, so it's an assy move on Hawke's part to send her back to the Dalish camp to fetch him supplies. Anyone with half a brain or two eyes could've felt and seen the tension between the little mage and the other elves when we were doing that delivery for the witch. _However_ , I can sort of see why Hawke would send Merrill. Merrill is Dalish and the Dalish are wary of outsiders, therefore Merrill's Hawke's best chance at getting the down-low on the location of Ironbark. Still...

I shift uneasily from foot to foot. "So, only the Dalish know where we can find Ironbark? Shouldn't that mean that _you_ should know as well?"

"I'm a mage, Mina, not a blacksmith," the elf says defensively. "Ironbark is used for crafting weapons and armor."

"Fair enough." I concede. "But what makes you think that they'll tell _me_? Your people don't exactly seem to like humans."

"Oh, but they'll love you! Everyone does!"

"Just like everyone loves Hawke?" I sigh and roll my eyes at this losing battle. "If you're trying to sweet-talk me, Merrill, I suggest doing it while offering me lots of rum and something pretty. Otherwise, sending me into hostile territory while sober will just make everyone sad."

She giggles, "They aren't _hostile_."

I'm about to continue our argument when I realize that we're a stone's throw away from the camp. When I look to my side where the lithe elf is supposed to be, I find that the little snake is gone. Well, damn. Guess it's time to buck up and get this over with. But what's so important about Ironbark? And what is it, anyway? As far as I know, something is either metal or wood, it can't be both. All I know is that it's used for crafting weapons and armor, so I don't understand why _Garrett Hawke_ needs it.

_Oh, lemme guess… Not only is he a magic user, mercenary, and a spy, but he's a craftsman as well!_

Like some sort of tropical bird during mating season, I puff out my chest and stalk over towards the entrance to the camp. Hopefully I look intimidating. Actually, I'm trying to mimic Carver's cocky gait since I was rather frightened by him the first time I saw him. With that logic, this weird walk will make me come across as someone you shouldn't mess with… Or like a total dumbass. Maybe the Dalish are merciful towards obviously stupid humans?

"Halt!" Barks the single warrior on guard duty.

"Hello." I bow my head regally. "I am here to inquire about the location of a certain crafting reagent that I am in need of. Do you perhaps know where I can find Ironbark, or can you point me in the direction of someone who does?"

 _What's with the posh accent?_ _God, I need more sleep._

The elf blinks his big blue eyes at me. "Um… Master Ilen might know?"

He doesn't move and I quirk a brow, "May I enter?"

"Oh, yes." He stutters before frowning after remembering that _he's_ the one in charge here. "But be quick about it!" After he moves aside, I continue my bird-walk inside. I swear I hear a little girlish giggle from somewhere far behind me. That damn, big-eyed elf.

* * *

Due to my horrible memory and lack of concentration, it took Master Ilen several attempts at hammering in the location of Ironbark into my head before I finally wizened up and asked for something to write it down with. The old elf was about to explode in a fit of rage and probably throw me into their fire pit as he produced an old map and a writing utensil and circled where I needed to go a few times too many. And although I was insulted that he thought I was incredibly stupid, hey, _free map_!

Needless to say, that whole "intellectual" and capable air I had going on completely unraveled when I was told that the camp didn't have any Ironbark and that I would have to travel to some uncharted location somewhere between the mountain and the scenic, beautifully named Bone Pit. This minor inconvenience has me sulking as I exit the camp with my nose buried in the map, soaking in every detail so I don't have to keep pulling it out of my pocket.

A soft scuffling prompts me to look up, afraid to see another giant freakin' spider, only to see an elf. I sigh with relief until I realize she looks about as liable to bite me as one of those monstrous spiders. Merrill creeps out from behind a large rock, looking more than a bit disgruntled as she stretches out her arms and legs. The sun is now out and shining at full force, making my lips feel like they might shrivel up and fall off. Thank goodness for cowls! Too bad Merrill doesn't have one, because her nose is a bit red at the tip.

_She looks like Rudolph! Well, Rudolph with a scowl._

"That took a long time," she complains as I approach.

I snort disdainfully, "If you wanted it done quickly, you should've just done it yourself, hon."

"Is that a map?" She asks, skirting around my rude statement.

"Yes."

The flaky map is taken delicately from my hands and examined by large eyes. Merrill's dark head swivels this way and that way as she scopes out our surroundings before returning her gaze to the map. By the time she starts walking, my patience is already pulled pretty thin and I'm ready to just find the crap for Hawke and get back home. The sun is making me irritable and I wish that I had sunglasses. Truthfully, I wish for many things but at the moment sunglasses are at the top of the list.

Feet aching, I follow the thin elf to the ends of the earth and back but we still don't have any Ironbark. Weird gray humanoid things are skewered as I vent my frustration out on them only to have Merrill tug me away from their writhing bodies with words like "Darkspawn" and "the Taint" on her tongue. She warns me about the blood and shoos me away from the corpses when I go to loot them. With a scowl, I comply. She's a paranoid little thing.

_If we don't find this crap soon... I'm gonna go all The Shining on this girl's ass._

"Merrill!" I whine like a child, "Where's the Ironbark?"

She glances at me over her shoulder, equally frustrated, and snaps, "We're _almost there_."

"You said that an hour ago and an hour before that, too! Give me that map!" I hiss and lunge for the map. She gives a little squeal of surprise and steps _toward_ me in some great lapse in judgment. We both go tumbling down as our bodies collide. We roll off of our current path and down the craggy mountainside. Blue sky flies by only to be replaced by gray dirt over and over again until I land on a little plateau on my stomach with Merrill falling heavily onto my back. She's not as light as she looks, folks. My popping back is a testament to that fact.

A soft tinkling sound catches my attention and I realize that the elf is giggling. My ribs ache but I laugh as well with my lips still smashed against the ground (kinda eating some dirt, but whatever), the motion putting more pressure on my chest. Merrill picks herself up off of me and I shakily get to my feet. Twigs poke out of her hair and dirt speckles her clothes but otherwise she looks fine. I'm sure I'm in the same state because she starts laughing even more, pointing at my head. With a frown, I pat my head and end up pulling the map out from my cowl.

_Oh, thank God! Maps aren't cheap._

"That was so much fun! I haven't played like that since I was a child." Merrill smiles as she reaches a hand out for the map.

I pull the map to my chest with a glare, "No way! I gave you _three hours_ to find that Ironbark and now it's my turn."

"Oh, Mina." She tuts, face full of condescension. "Do you even _know_ how to read a map? Most people born in cities never learn how to read them."

"Do _you_ know how?" She nods and I snort, "Could've fooled me. Besides, it's not rocket science. Google Maps is a thing, ya know?"

"Google? Oh, never mind." Merrill waves me off. "Like I said, we're almost th-"

I can safely say that I wasn't expecting my dear elven friend to get cut off by a vicious, ear-splitting roar. Knowing this, my volatile reaction of jumping violently and spewing every cuss word I know (and a few made-up ones) is justifiable. Even more so when I turn around to see a great, hulking beast made of muscle and silvery scales bounding over towards me with more grace than a beast that large should possess. It would also be completely justifiable if I pissed myself. But I don't. Just sayin'.

_Is that a freakin' dragon?_

Yup. And it takes me way too long to realize this. Before I know it the dragon has snatched me up in its maw and proceeds to thrash its head around, teeth piercing my chainmail and sinking into the flesh of my thighs and lower belly. The feeling is surreal, I almost don't believe it's happening. Hot breath encases my body as molten pain bleeds through my lower half, a painful reality check. Air pounds on my eardrums, just adding to my already disoriented state as I try desperately to regain my bearings. Well, as much as I can in between teeth as long as my arm and as sharp as my sword.

I want to scream. Really, I do. But screaming isn't going to do anything good for the panicky elf who has started shouting incantations and it definitely isn't going to make the dragon stop and say "Oh, does that hurt? Okay, I'll stop!" Slicer is still on my back, but it's hard to move my arm to wield the sword much less aim it at the beast's eye what with it flailing me around like a ragdoll. I can't even get access to my daggers. Oh, boy. And now my stomach is bubbling with acid and I think I might spew.

Before I can even graze my Lord's pommel with my fingertips or even try to pry one of my daggers out from between my thigh and the beast's teeth, the dragon spits me to the ground like old chewing gum that lost its flavor, knocking the wind right out of me. Over the pounding of my own blood in my ears I can hear Merrill shouting frantically as she shoots off another spell. Suddenly, I'm being tugged up by my arms. Pain floods my system as my new wounds are jostled around and warmth drips down my legs from them.

 _Great. I'm gonna get eaten by a dragon._ _What a way to go._

"Hurry! Take this, Mina!" A cold bottle is pressed against my lips and I part them. "I've encased the dragon in stone, but it won't last forever. We must _run_!"

Bitter liquid burns its way down my throat, leaving a sugary aftertaste; a health potion (God, these things are so expensive! Why does everyone use them like Motrin?). I can feel its effects immediately as I struggle to my feet, wounds clotting up and head clearing. In front of me I see Merrill's handiwork and can't help but gape in awe. The gray beast snarls and roars before turning its head this way and that in frustration as it struggles against its gravelly bindings. Its entire body is covered in thick brown stone but I can already see tiny cracks forming from the beast's relentless efforts to escape.

_Hot damn!_

I let out a low whistle as I admire what my cute mage companion can do and wish I had a camera to capture the moment. Suddenly, the dragon stops thrashing around and whips its angular head around to stare at us. Yellow eyes blaze with primal fury. An unearthly growl reverberates in my bones and shakes the ground beneath my feet. Smoke billows out of two slits for nostrils and curls out from between pointed teeth stained with my blood. My stomach sinks. This would be so cool if I wasn't so flammable.

_Oh, shit…_

Just as I throw myself onto Merrill, the dragon rears back and unleashes a wave of flames. My entire back and upper arms erupt in searing pain and I can't help but cry out. Below me, Merrill whimpers and I catch a glimpse of wide green eyes glistening up at me before my face screws up in agony. I can literally smell myself burning. The putrid stench of burning hair and sizzling flesh fills my nose and makes my throat tighten in fear and disgust. I gag violently.

Although the flames are gone I'm still on fire and I reluctantly throw myself to the ground and roll around to put it out. It feels like I just threw myself onto a bed of nails and I immediately arch my back and grit my teeth. Most likely I look like a fool, but I'd rather look like an idiot than a human torch. A deafening crack fills the air and I'm on my feet faster than I thought possible. The dragon is still restrained but part of the stone on its back crumbles away. Soon it will free itself completely. I have to do something.

Nerves on fire with adrenaline, I pull Slicer off my back and almost scream when the heated metal burns through my glove and the skin on my back threatens to break. Tears stream down my face and I have to choke back pained sobs every time I so much as twitch a muscle. This dragon has introduced me to a new kind of hell. A hell where, instead of being torn away from everything you knew and being in so much mental and emotional pain, you're in so much _physical_ pain that you wish you would just die.

_Tough it out, Mina! Do or die!_

Silver scales twitch and glisten in the sunlight as the dragon strains against its bonds. More stone breaks away from the earthy prison and I know that I have to move fast. Circling around the trapped dragon, I formulate a plan. Heart pounding like mad, I know that this will either be the coolest thing I've ever done or one of the dumbest things anyone has done in the history of mankind. Merrill, who was busy replenishing her magic, meets my gaze and freezes when she sees me poised to strike. "No! Don't do it!" She's the perfect distraction.

The overgrown lizard focuses on the tiny elf and I leap onto its back and scramble over towards its long neck. All of its jerky movements threaten to make me fall off and its scales are surprisingly slick, which does nothing to help me stabilize myself. The backs of my legs and the skin on my back feel painfully tight and as I lift my sword and swing it with both arms, I feel my flesh rip along my shoulder blades. The dragon writhes in panic, realizing what I'm about to do, unable to twist around and stop me.

Pain is at the forefront of my mind as I simultaneously shout and swing again and again until the dragon stops moving with one last gurgle after a century of hacking at the muscular column of its neck. Blood that isn't my own drips down my face and stains my clothes. Shakily, I shimmy off of the dragon's back like some sick children's slide and collapse to the ground. With the last bit of adrenaline leaving me, I'm able to stand with Merrill's help.

She doesn't touch my back, which I'm grateful for, as she leads me down part of the mountain to a little plateau. For the most part I stumble on the way there and I'm surprised that the little elf is able to keep me upright. "I'm _so_ sorry, Mina," she whimpers, near tears as she pulls off her pack and begins rummaging through it.

There's a half rotted log near what looks like an old fire pit and I collapse onto it. Immediately I regret it as needles drag down the backs of my thighs and my butt. Honestly, I don't want to know what I look like. For all I know, I'm baring my behind to everyone and their mother and I have a huge bald patch on the back of my head. All that time growing out my hair and for what? To have it burned off? Oh, that's the least of my worries. I probably look like a walking piece of beef jerky. What's pretty hair to a SlimJim?

"Ah, you know me," I laugh tightly, "I always have to make a show of things. It's a good thing you weakened that giant lizard for me. Who knew its neck was its weak spot?" I add sarcastically.

Merrill clears her throat nervously as a faint blush tints her cheeks, "Please undress. I really need to treat your burns."

_Honey, I can't even muster up the strength to be embarrassed._

Nodding numbly, I heave myself up and reach to unbuckle my belt. It falls right off the moment I pull at the buckle and my stomach falls to the ground with it. I look up to Merrill and find that she's fiddling with a little glass container, eyes trained on it like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. I sigh and kick off my boots. I'm disturbed to find that I'm able to tug my pants and shirt off without even unlacing them. Holding the charred strips of cloth in my hands, I'm finally able to catch the girl's eye. My lips twitch into a forced smile. "Maybe we should've brought Anders."

She doesn't respond and I proceed to shrug off my chainmail. The warm air kisses my burnt skin and I hiss. That armor only worked to absorb the heat of the dragon's flames and turn me into a walking HotPocket. Merrill is next to me in an instant, the little container of salve cradled in her palms. She dances about worriedly for a moment before standing beside me. I blush, completely naked, and can only hope that no one sees me as I hold the remains of my cowl and smalls to my chest. Heaven forbid a family going out for a picnic passes by.

_A dragon charred my ass… Only in Thedas._

"I'm so sorry, Mina!"

"Seriously, it's fine." I sigh, "It's better than _you_ getting roasted."

A frown creases her pale brow, "Well, I wouldn't want to get roasted but I still feel bad that _you_ did." Lithe fingers uncap the lid and dip into the creamy white balm. Throwing me one last apologetic look, she slathers it onto the burnt flesh of my upper arms and my back. Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing for all of three seconds before my arms and back seemingly turn to ice. I hiss through my teeth and the thin elf riddles off an endless list of apologies in two different languages as she continues to rub the frigid salve into the burns relentlessly. The pain only increases the lower she goes and I think this actually hurts more than the damn burns themselves.

And the fact that Merrill is apologizing but still rubbing the stuff in makes me growl. "Are you a sadist or something?" I grind out, digging my nails into the ruined fabric of my cowl.

"Oh, no. Don't you know that I'm Dalish?"

I laugh despite the pain. I swear, she says these things on purpose! And honestly, I'm grateful for the levity. Finally, she pulls away and unrolls some bandages before wrapping me up like a mummy. It's not the best job, but I'm glad for her care anyway. Experimentally, I roll my shoulders and am displeased to find that they're extraordinarily stiff. Groaning, I gingerly sit down. At least this time it doesn't feel like I sat on a log made of tacks. "I'll go over to the camp and fetch you some clothes." Merrill says, squinting downhill to where the Dalish camp is visible, "I think I'll pick up some food as well."

_That's awfully nice, considering how she was dead set on avoiding the place altogether._

I smile appreciatively. "Thanks, Merrill."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I'm just glad that you agreed to come with me to fetch the Ironbark. I'm not sure what would have happened if it was just me and Anders facing off with a dragon."

I shudder at the thought (and don't mention that we only ran into the dragon because of me). But then I grimace when that little movement causes an unpleasant tingling sensation to pinch at my raw flesh. Merrill gives me a wave and heads off, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at me like I might disappear or drop dead before she's out of sight. Breath whooshes out of me as I sigh. I'm a hot mess. I can't even go on a simple errand without something bad happening to me. It's almost enough to make me a hermit.

_Maybe Varric cursed me when he started calling me Lucky?_

Leaning forward, I close my eyes and rub my temples with my fingertips. Gosh, all of those clothes were completely ruined! Not to mention everything I had in my pack was obliterated, including the pack itself. Dollar signs dances before my eyes as I think about the potions, poisons, and coin that I had packed. Small clothes? Ruined. Cowl? Ruined. Shirt and pants? Ruined. Boots? Mostly destroyed. Belt? Ruined. Health potions? Obliterated. Debilitating poison and the fancy Fell poison that I had snagged a bit of during an import? Annihilated. Everything is ruined. Kaput.

_So much money spinning down the drain…_

"Damn it!" I scream as I slam my fist down on the log beneath me. Stupid move because now my fist hurts. Swearing angrily, I glare at the annoying log and freeze. Huh. I haven't ever seen wood like this before. A greenish hue tints the gray bark and I at first mistake it for some sort of lichen. I stand (which takes a lot of effort and makes me think of how pregnant people get up) and inspect the log further. There's nothing special about it, per se, but it certainly is odd to look at. Then it hits me. "Ironbark!"

"What?"

I scream and (very slowly and very stiffly, which ruins the dramatic moment) turn around to find Merrill walking up to me, laden down with supplies and clothing. Finger pointed at the log, I beam at her proudly. Realization dawns on her and her eyes light up. Cloth and metal fall to the ground with a thump as she drops everything to scurry over towards the log. She murmurs under her breath as she runs her fingers over the coarse bark. After confirming to herself that it is indeed Ironbark, she grins up at me, "See? I told you it was nearby!"

"And your Master Ilen was apparently wrong." I turn up my nose and smirk, "But we only found it because I tackled you like an idiot, so _I_ was right!"

"Okay, okay." She relents as she goes over to scoop up the supplies. "I got you some clothes. Would you like to camp here or would you prefer to try and get back to Kirkwall?"

_Are you crazy? There are dragons here!_

"Kirkwall!" I blurt. "Sorry, but I'd like to get treated before these burns get infected." Eagerly taking the clothes, I unfold the long tunic and cloak. No pants? That makes sense, I suppose, considering I can barely even walk. Clothing rubbing against my burns probably wouldn't be all that comfortable. _And_ I'm going commando- Isabela would be so proud. Shame burns my cheeks as I have to have Merrill help me get dressed like I'm some sort of invalid. She allows me to lean against her as I put on my boots and then I watch as she chips off a good chunk of Ironbark with one of my daggers.

With the Ironbark wrapped up in a piece of cloth and safely tucked away into her pack, we head off towards Kirkwall. We cut through the camp just to make sure that we don't get lost again, though. I steadfastly ignore the incredulous look Master Ilen gives me as I waddle by. I tug on the hood of the cloak as I uneasily watch Merrill struggle with the weight of Slicer on her back. The elf's back is stooped, unaccustomed to the heavy weapon with its pretty engravings. My Lord bangs against her staff every now and then and I can only wince. Poor baby!

The sun dips below the horizon but the sky is still slightly illuminated with the remaining rays of warm orange light. Darkness brings chilly air along with it as we finally enter the city. Skin stiff like plaster, I hobble my way home with Merrill hot on my trail. Although I had told her to deliver the precious Ironbark to our noble leader, she refused to see me off until she was sure I made it home safely. At first she argued that I should go see Anders, but I declined and said that I could simply knock back a spare health potion ( _pah!_ ) and I would be good as new.

_Liar. You just don't want to see Anders in such a state after coming off all confident._

Right. My pride won't allow me to get patched up by the healer after sending him on his merry way instead of bringing him along for the ride. Hope he got enough rest. But from what I can tell of that mage, he's about as bad as Hawke when it comes to working nonstop. Those two will work themselves into the ground if they can get away with it. Hm. Maybe they _are_ compatible. This thought has me grimacing unwittingly as I stand on my doorstep and announce to Merrill, "Well, this is me."

Green eyes stare at me expectantly. "Go on in." Merrill insists, waving me on like a little kid on their first day back to school.

"Fine." With a huff, I reach to my back and freeze. Wait… The key… Oh, son of a _bitch_! I put the damn key in my pack and it got completely annihilated like everything else in there! Grinning tightly, I wave Merrill off but she doesn't budge. Thin arms cross over her chest as she taps her foot. Is she trying to make me feel like a scolded child? Because it's working. Holding out a hand, I silently demand that she relinquish my blade and I'm a bit relieved to have the weight of Slicer back in my hand. I grin at her like a psycho and continue to wave her off.

"Get inside, Mina."

" _You_ get inside!"

She blushes and shakes her head, "What is it? Why won't you go home, lethallan?"

"Letha-what?"

Blush intensifying, Merrill shoots a weak glare at me, "Mina, go inside your home."

"What's going on here?" A deep voice asks from across the courtyard.

_Oh, great creator of the universe, you are a gigantic jackass._

"Hello, Hawke," Merrill says as the taller mage makes his way over to us.

"Hi, Hawke," I greet flatly.

Golden eyes burn me like the dragon's flame and I wince and look away. From my peripheral vision, I see the tall mage turn to Merrill and give her an inquisitive look. Without a word, she digs in her bag and produces the Ironbark before handing it to Hawke and saying a faint, bashful farewell. Now we're alone. Why do people find it necessary to leave me alone with this guy? I wish my key hadn't been melted into a puddle by a damn dragon.

"So, you went along with Merrill and Anders?" The elder Hawke questions.

_Not talking to you!_

I nod mutely.

"How did it go? No trouble, I presume?"

I nod mutely.

"You know that you are a terrible liar, correct?"

I nod mutely.

"I saw Anders in his clinic earlier in the day and he said that you told him not to trouble himself with the mission _I_ assigned to him. He was fairly confident in your ability to complete the job. I wasn't as sure of your competence as him." Hawke says coolly, "And now I can see that I wasn't wrong."

I break my vow of silence. "You got your stuff, didn't you? I say that's a job well done."

"Ah, she speaks." Hawke murmurs. "Clearly you and I have differing opinions on what makes a successful quest."

Clicking my tongue, I frown, "And what makes a job a success in your wonderful world, dearest Garrett?"

Molten gold eyes stare at me. "For starters, a mission is a success if the objective is completed."

"And it _was_ completed."

"But it's only truly a success if everyone comes out unharmed."

_Uh…_

One shoulder comes up stiffly in a painful half-shrug. "Merrill and I are _fine_. So, the job was a complete success! You got your Ironbark and nobody lost any limbs!" A gloved finger pokes my shoulder and the world freezes. Coldness spears through my shoulder for a split second before flames replace my skin and barbed wire replaces my nerves. Lips twitching up into a wild grin, I make a little choking noise in my throat that faintly sounds like "See? I'm fine!" as I realize that the salve's numbing effects have long gone. Oh, what I wouldn't do to be able to strangle this haughty bastard!

"Yes, I can see that you're _just fine,_ " Hawke drawls.

"Yeah!" I shout so loudly that it echoes throughout the courtyard for a while. "I'm fantastic!"

"Then why don't I believe you?"

"B-Because you're paranoid!" I gasp as I slap his hand away and glare. "I'm in the best shape of my life, Hawke."

A dark eyebrow quirks. "Really? Then why are your legs covered in bandages?"

Swiftly, I close the cloak and snort, "When I was little-"

He cuts me off, "You're still little."

_Ass!_

"Whatever!" I wave him off. "Anyway, when I was a _child_ , there was this boy that I knew who would always spit everywhere he went because he thought that swallowing his saliva was gross."

Dark eyebrows rise. "What's your point?"

"My point is that you're _that_ kind of weird. Why do you insist on harassing me? I got the Ironbark for you and it's no skin off your nose if I got hurt getting it. Would you huff and puff if your tailor accidentally pricked his finger while making your cloak? No." I go to cross my arms but decide against it when my skin creaks in protest. "Just let it go! Be a normal spit swallower like everyone else I do jobs for!"

Silence fills the space between us and I wish I had the strength to kick my door in. Or that I had actually paid attention when Isabela tried teaching me how to pick locks. The way her outfit rode up her thighs when she knelt down to show me was more than a bit distracting. Damn, I wish Isabela was here to pick my lock and distract Hawke with her skimpy outfit and outrageous behavior.

Lean arms fall to the mage's sides as he shifts his stance, inclining his body closer toward me. His chiseled features are schooled into a calm expression and I suck in my bottom lip. Why are all the pretty ones such asses? The light from a nearby torch reflects off the golden woman on his staff and I blink. Something glistens in those intense eyes of his and he looks like he's about to say something profound. "You're locked out of your house."

_Huh. Guess not._

"M-Maybe."

"Come with me. My mother won't mind sharing her bed with you and tending to your wounds. It's too late to go to Anders' clinic and it's just about supper time, so you can eat as well."

 _Oh. Guess it_ is _profound._

Hawke turns to go but stops and gives me a dark look. "But leave Carver alone."

"Tch. Fine." I match his glare. "But I'll only listen to you since it's your house and your rules. Don't think I'll always obey you so willingly."

"Good." He nods. "Just remember that: _my_ house, _my_ rules."

"Mmm. That mean look is making me feel all tingly in places." I snark at his back and am immensely satisfied to see the tips of his ears go red.

_Pfft!_


	23. Kiriyama: 07. Frozen

**Kiriyama: 07. Frozen**

We aren't even in the Frostback Mountains when we come across a baby dragon. I watched it curiously nuzzle its snout through debris from just behind the billowing fabric of what was once a tent and turned to tell Michael that there was a dragon as he buried his nose in a map. When I made the mistake of calling it a "baby dragon," Michael quietly corrected me with a frown and said it was a "drake," not a baby.

Bears and wolves can't hold a candle to a dragon. In these sparse and frozen woods, those creatures are all we've seen with the occasional "Darkspawn" popping up. Michael had warned me against getting close to tainted creatures like those humanoid beings and even pointed out sick bears to keep an eye on. The boy seemed so blasé about everything and all these strange beasts. When I pointed out the dragon, though, he was enraptured.

The creature was a strange thing to behold with bluish gray scales that rippled across a body of lethal muscle. Its long neck was what Michael attacked- seemingly from nowhere- like a vicious animal. Teeth bared, eyes wild, face speckled with ruby fluid; he was a fearsome sight. He didn't even need my help but I still nocked one of the ice arrows he had insisted that I buy, just in case.

After that one fell, more came. And more and more. Their bodies were slightly difficult to spot amongst the flurry of snow, but they quickly remedied that for us when they started spitting little balls of flame. The boy fought like a creature possessed, and I made sure to stay well out of his sword's range lest he "accidentally" decapitate me. Because of his ferocity, the battle was over as quickly as it began.

He lacks finesse but he's surprisingly efficient. Not once did he leave himself open to an attack, like he had eyes all over. It's a bit suspicious and as I sit with a drake's head lolling on my knee and I struggle to skin it, I covertly watch the boy. Snowflakes drift lazily down from the sky only to be swooped up and away by a gust of wind. I blink away a few flurries that attach to my eyelashes.

It's quiet between us. It's been quiet for a while, truth be told. Now, I know Michael's hostility towards me stems from my murdering of his sister, but during this trip he's grown even moodier and I'm not exactly sure why. There's a strange change in his demeanor. Occasionally, when he deigns to speak to me, he asks if I'm going to leave Ferelden with him. Each time I've replied in the negative, his expression has soured. It doesn't make any sense. Not too long ago he was threatening to kill me. Now, he wants me to escape with him as if we're allies?

Michael watches me in boredom, wiping his blade down and occasionally glancing around the charred remains of the camp we had stumbled upon. He offers no help and I would've refused if he had. Animosity comes off of him in deadly waves and I've kept my distance from him since we first started our journey, so I'm not about to let him near me just for the sake of taking the burden of work from me.

"Here near Orzammar, we're far from Amaranthine," Michael says aloofly as he hits his blade on the toe of his boot. "So, what now?"

I'm a bit startled by the sound of another human voice carrying over the wind since it's been about a day since we really spoke conversationally to one another. "Well, we have more than enough scales," I state as I look at the six corpses. "After I skin them, I'll head back."

"Are you seriously going back to that guy?"

Eyes flit up, catching sight of his twisted expression. I quirk a brow. "Yes. Don't tell me you're worried about me."

He scoffs, "I'm _not_. But it begs the question: For _what_? A life of servitude? Isolation? Misery?" Michael rolls his eyes. "Good luck with that. Thanks for getting me out of that shithole. I can handle it from here."

He gets to his feet quickly but doesn't move to actually leave. Instead, he stands imposingly. My hands continue their methodical work of piercing tough flesh and running the smooth blade beneath the skin, refusing to acknowledge and draw attention to this menacing stance of his. If I look at him, he'll try to get confrontational. The boy is so backward in his social skills that it's a wonder he's even related to sociable Mina Solis.

He's trying to intimidate me but I won't have it. I'll remain levelheaded. I've had enough time to think this through on our week-long journey. I would very much like to personally reunite the boy with his sister just to make sure he gets there safe, but I still have work to do with regard to Carrow. Though I don't fault Michael for wanting me to tag along and _escape_ , I can't just leave Carrow to run amok. Still, I don't understand why he seems to be taking my refusal to leave so personally.

Glancing up, I gently order, "Don't go just yet. Look, I can get you on a boat when we get back to Amaranthine. It's dangerous for you to try and head off on your own." I inform him calmly, though I secretly take stock of all of my weapons, "So, just hang on for a bit longer. It'd be a mess if I left you and you never made it to Kirkwall."

After a long pause of silence in which I'm pretty sure the pouty kid just stares at me, I hear him grumble, "Why would _you_ help _me_?"

That gets me to balk. Tossing down the drake's head, I scoff, "Are you serious? Like you _just_ said: I got you out of there." At his steely glare, I add, "You can easily get lost out here. And if you get lost, guess who will find you first? _Carrow_. As a blood mage, he has mastered the power of compulsion. He's able to bend people's minds to his will and even infiltrate their minds during sleep. He'll most likely use that ability to hunt you down and torment you. It's better for you if you come back with me to Amaranthine so I can get you on a boat."

A silvery glint makes me glance up and I see the boy cross his arms. Hand still wrapped firmly around the hilt, I know that he won't relinquish his blade. He's still acting strangely agitated. He's getting worked up for no good reason. Cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring; he's too far gone for me to be able to reel him back in. Wrapping the dragon skin and placing it in my bag, I stand cautiously and stare the boy down. The muscles in his jaw twitch as he grinds his teeth. This is much more dangerous than Mina's weepy moments. This is on a whole different level of rage than Carrow's outbursts. What's _wrong_ with him?

"Michael."

"You wanna continue to be that sicko's plaything? Be my guest!" He bellows, "But don't expect me to continue tagging along with you while you carry out his little errands like a good little slave! I'm _not_ going back to Amaranthine with you and I'm _not_ gonna stick around while you do his bidding!"

Instead of fighting me like I thought he was going to do, he turns on his heel and stalks away. Snow swirls around his cloaked figure as he storms through the sparse trees and makes his way back to the trail. Swearing, I strap on my bag and hurry after him. There are bears and abnormally large spiders all around these parts, and although he's a fierce fighter I don't want to be the one who just watched him walk into harm's way.

"Michael!"

He doesn't stop, doesn't even falter in his determined stride. My hand hovers at his shoulder but I don't touch him. Something tells me that touching him right now would be a bad idea. But when he loses his footing on the slick slush, I have no choice but to either grab him or let him tumble down the steep incline and possibly impale himself with his own sword.

It's like being shocked; sharp, quick, and insanely painful all at the same time. Joints crack and pop, locking of their own accord. Muscles stiffen like ice and blood freezes to slush. Electricity seems to crackle along my skin. When he's steadied himself, Michael glances at me over his shoulder with dark eyes and shrugs me off before continuing like nothing. I'm paralyzed. I can't move. I can't call out to him or anything. I can only watch as he disappears behind that growing curtain of snow and even when he's well out of my sight, I can't do anything.

Heart racing, I try to come up with some solution. If I'm immobile for too long, I'll surely freeze or become a meal for some hungry, wild animal. And this region isn't in short supply of dangerous creatures as I learned from that seemingly endless stream of dragons. Unable to even blink or twitch the most insignificant of muscles, I realize what I must do. I focus on the continuous thrumming in my blood and think of Carrow. Before I know it, the blond man is no longer just an image in my head but a real, fleshy mortal in front of my eyes. Bitter cold air is replaced by stifling heat from a roaring fireplace and the blond man looks up in alarm. He pulls himself from his throne of books and swiftly approaches me.

"Didn't I tell you not to tele-!" He stops to look around curiously. "Where is Michael?" Blue eyes search the room frantically for the strange boy. Despite quickly being warmed up, I'm still just as immobile as I was in the snow. It's clear to me that the cold wasn't what sparked this unusual onslaught of paralysis. It was Michael. _This_ is what he can do. But is this the only thing that makes him dangerous? When I don't answer, the mage frowns gravely. "What's happened to you? Are you…" His eyes narrow as he seems to come up with some conclusion from nowhere. "I see…"

Boney hands tug away my bag and cloak and a chair is placed behind me before I'm shoved down onto it. Then the mage begins to pace, occasionally throwing me an accusatory glare before returning to his city of books and submerging himself in their musty depths. After a long time, I begin to think that he's forgotten about me until he scratches something onto a scrap and shoves it into his robes. He makes to walk by me but stops hesitantly.

"I will be back shortly," he announces. "Please stay put."

I don't know if he's being facetious or not as the door behind me opens and closes. What I do know is that I'm alone and sinking into the dusty cushions of an armchair in a demented mage's study while Michael Adler, the Paralyzer, treks through the dangerous terrain outside of Orzammar on the hunt for his sister whom he may or may not hurt. I guess taking him with me to fight dragons and releasing him into the wild wasn't such a good idea after all.


	24. The Devil's Advocate

**17\. The Devil's Advocate**

Soft _whish_ , _whish_ , _whishe_ _s_ fill the air. The metallic sound is juxtapose to the almost muted shearing noise of charred hair being cut away. It would almost be weirdly soothing if I weren't pissed. And I'm _very_ pissed. Brooding, I listen to the sound of a finely sharpened blade cutting away at the blackened remains of what were once beautiful, curly locks of hair. Mama Hawke tuts behind me as she runs her delicately tapered fingers through my now short hair. I fear that I look like a green, sheared poodle now. What a lovely image.

A warm hand pats me on my shoulder, a signal that the deed is done, as Leandra stands up and goes across the room for a broom to begin sweeping up the frizzy black mess on the floor that looks like someone ripped apart a Brillo pad. Though I offer to do the sweeping, she insists on it. The noblewoman does this all stiffly under my intense yet curious gaze. It's obvious that Leandra Hawke doesn't know how to handle me: the strange young woman with third-degree burns all over her backside that her apostate son brought home like a stray dog (fitting imagery since I'm certain I look very poodle-like right now).

When I had first entered the home after being enticed with promises of dinner, a bed, and more opportunities to harass Hawke, all I heard were long nails scratching against the floorboards as the Mabari pulled a Scooby-Doo move where he was momentarily running in place in his excitement to get to me and his mage handler. Biscuit came bounding up to me with his tongue trailing after him only to skid to an abrupt halt and sniff at my bandaged mummy-legs curiously before whimpering and blinking up at me with his big, watery brown eyes.

Biscuit then began to carefully nuzzle my legs with a wet nose and when I had flinched away he howled whilst pawing at the back of a mildly annoyed Garrett's leg. After that obnoxiously loud howl, a grumpy older man with a sleazy look to him ambled into the main room to yell at the Mabari but seemed to choke on his stern lecture as his eyes landed on me. "Who is this?" He asked Hawke angrily like my mere presence was such a massive inconvenience.

"A friend, Uncle Gamlen." Garrett replied dismissively before gesturing for me to follow him into a large room to the right. Inside the dusty and spacious room was a woman with graying hair and strikingly familiar blue eyes. She rose from her sitting position on her bed and set down her book with all the grace and elegance of nobility. I immediately felt self-conscious about my bandage-cloak-oversized-tunic ensemble and my gimp. I sort of felt like I was in the presence of royalty, as ridiculous as that sounds.

It didn't take long for me to realize who the woman was. The second Hawke left the room, the woman _ordered_ me to take off my clothes. _Then_ , when I was butt-naked, she introduced herself as Leandra Hawke- she waited until I was freakin' naked to have us go through introductions, as clear an indication as any to her blood relation to Hawke with that godawful timing. I could clearly see where Garrett Hawke mastered his infuriating stoicism, too. It was painfully clear in the indifferent way the woman surveyed my naked and burned body without so much as a stutter or blush that she fully embraced the persona of professionalism that I find so damn annoying in her son.

"Just call me Solis." I'd said after stripping down in front of the noblewoman. She'd arched her brow disapprovingly and I sputtered out, "Wilhelmina. That's my name." After that, I had watched, totally enraptured, as she readied a homemade salve that she told me she learned to make when Hawke's father, Malcolm, was just teaching his little apostate how to use his magic. The idea of a young, chubby-cheeked Garrett Hawke burning himself with his own flames made me snort. Needless to say, Leandra gave me another disappointed eyebrow arch (I'll call it the Hawke-eye) for that rude noise. And then she told me she had to chop off my friggin' hair.

"It doesn't look that bad, dear. Actually, it makes your eyes stand out more and brings out your feminine features. You won't want for suitors with that new hairstyle." Leandra says reassuringly when she spots me running my fingers through my hair.

I know that she's trying to be sweet but now I just want her to can it. Little shocks zap my skin as my nerves go haywire with the stinky balm and the way the air brushes against my exposed neck makes me feel more naked than I felt when I _actually was_ naked. All of these strange feelings put me on edge. Fingertips brush the little strands that barely reach the nape of my neck as I physically try to gauge how much damage was done to my hair. Yes. It's short. Super short. I don't think my hair was even this short when I was born.

_At least it's long-ish in the front? Aw, face it, you look like a fool._

"I remember when my daughter had to have her hair cut." Leandra muses as she leans against the desk, broom still in hand. "Carver, my youngest son, was always picking on her. One day he nailed her braid to the bed and no matter how hard any of us tried, we couldn't get her free. She cried so much when I cut her hair and she said that she looked like a boy. But you know what? She was still the village's little sweetheart."

Crystalline eyes go misty and I shamefully avert my gaze, busying myself by throwing on my cloak. Leandra stares off at nothing, seeing her daughter in the only place that she can reach her now: in her memories. Honestly, I'm afraid to move. If I move, I'll break the illusion for the woman. "You remind me of her, you know." Leandra says suddenly, breaking the spell herself and making me jump. "It's your eyes. They're so expressive."

I smile uncomfortably. "Your eyes remind me of Carver."

She brightens. "Oh, yes. There's no denying that he's my son, is there?"

_Absolutely not!_

It's like Carver magically grew up to be an older woman. The same sharp features, bright blue eyes, and pale complexion… gosh I have to stifle my hysterical laughter when I realize this and turn it into a dignified cough. Garrett Hawke must really resemble his father with his darker skin tone and golden eyes. I wonder if Bethany resembled her mother. Did she have blue eyes as well? Brushing my bangs out of my eyes, I give the woman a warm smile and thank her for taking such great care of me to which she waves me off and says it was nothing.

Then the lecture begins as she goes into Mommy-Mode and scorns me for putting myself in such a dangerous situation. "Garrett says it might have been a dragon." Leandra says seriously as she burns my burns with her severe gaze.

"It was," I confess, shifting uncomfortably under that hellfire stare.

"Did you take anyone with you? Garrett told me before that you tend to work jobs alone. Carver argued that it was a more efficient way of working but Garrett and I both disagree." She crosses her arms and if I were a dog I would have my tail between my legs. "You may be an independent young woman, but you can't afford to be so careless. This is a dangerous world we live in, Wilhelmina."

_God, I regret giving her my full name!_

"I took someone with me!" I feebly rebuke. "We just weren't expecting a dragon to be on the trail, is all."

Am I even awake right now? No, seriously. Is this the Twilight Zone because I swear I'm being lectured by my boss' _mom_ right now. I haven't had safety talks since I was like twelve. Oh, wait, that's a lie. I got one at eighteen when I started college. Uncle Carl gave me pepper spray and a long-winded speech about how "college boys" are nothing but opportunists and to mace the shit out of anyone who doesn't understand personal space regardless of gender. Kinda wish I had been able to pepper spray that dragon before it slow-roasted me.

"Do you promise?"

"U-Uh, I beg your pardon?" I stutter, blushing because I just zoned out on Leandra _Hawke_.

She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow and I feel like melting into the floor. "Do you promise to take someone with you when you go on jobs? I've heard that you're good friends with that Isabela woman," she says distastefully and my lip twitches, "at least take her along."

Ducking my head I reply, "Of course."

"Wonderful." Leandra says, looking pleased as punch before frowning a bit and looking at the door when something begins to scratch at it. "I think Biscuit is trying to get in. Garrett must be done cooking."

I don't know if the dog just likes to go and alert Leandra when dinner is done or if he does this to escape the mage's cooking. Tightening the cloak around my body, I pull the hood up and open the door. This time around, Biscuit has no qualms about getting on his hind legs and putting his front paws on my shoulders before licking my face with his slimy tongue. "Thank goodness for your salve," I say to Leandra as the woman scolds the grinning dog.

"I apologize. He was just always very fond of Bethany," Leandra sighs.

"What are you talking about?" Garrett frowns from where he stands at the head of their table. "She's nothing like Bethany."

"I never said she was." Leandra replies shortly. "Biscuit has a preference for young women, is all I implied."

We all sit around the table awkwardly after that friendly little familial exchange. Like _hell_ am I gonna bring up the elephant in the room, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in hearing about this Bethany. Drumming my fingers against the table, I glance around at everyone. Hawke appraises me with a critical gaze (like he's sizing me up again), Leandra shoots me pleasantly strained smiles whenever our eyes meet, and Gamlen glares at everything that moves. Raising my eyebrows uncomfortably, I avert my gaze to stare at the clear broth before me, wondering if it's deep enough to drown myself in.

_Guess you could call this… Hawke-ward. Eh?_

Maybe I _should_ drown myself in my broth for that joke. We're waiting for Carver, apparently, because Leandra pipes up through the uncomfortable silence, "Garrett, do you mind fetching your brother?"

"Where is that blasted boy?" Gamlen growls along with his stomach. " _I'll_ find him myself," he says grouchily enough but actually seems overly eager to leave.

_You and me both, brother._

I raise my hand daintily to get Mama Hawke's attention. "I'll go and find him. It's the least I can do after you have been so hospitable and gracious."

Leandra shakes her head. "Oh, no. I couldn't possibly send you out into the streets at this hour." She turns to Garrett. "Please."

I stand despite her objections. "It's no trouble at all. I have my weapons and I have my cunning." I swear I hear Hawke snort and my eye twitches. "I'll have your son home in no time!" Skin completely numb, it's really, really weird trying to walk normally. Actually, I have to work at trying to _appear_ normal. Nearly tripping over my own feet, I feel like a puppet whose strings have been cut, with my jerky and erratic movements. Pros of the Hawke salve: I feel no more pain! Cons: I feel _nothing_.

Though I have feeling in my feet and hands, it doesn't do me any good since it feels like I don't even have any legs… or a body, for that matter. A soft giggle makes me turn around and I see Leandra whispering conspiratorially to Garrett. His brow furrows and he murmurs something in response before following his mother's gaze to me. His cheeks turn a light pink and he glares at me fiercely. That gets me out of the house faster than anything.

When I'm out in the slightly humid night air, I pretty much just wander aimlessly around the streets without a clue as to where I should start looking for the boy. I start drifting down the alleyways in Lowtown and dance around the outskirts of Darktown before I run into a familiar face. Obviously he's been following me, because he isn't even remotely startled while I nearly crawl up a building in my shock. A smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth and I scowl before tugging at the hood of my cloak. "Shortcake."

"Lucky," Varric greets in that low voice of his, bowing his head. Firelight from a nearby torch dances off of his perfectly groomed hair, catching the golden accents of his blond hair and turning the rest into a blazing bright likeness of the flame. He's completely put together, as always, and looks as though he was out for a little stroll. I don't buy that, though. The dwarf was definitely following me. Why else would he be skulking around one of the entrances to Darktown? Varric Tethras isn't exactly the skulking type. He's too badass for that grunt work. "Long time no see."

"I saw you not even two days ago," I snort.

He shrugs. "That's still quite a bit of time. It's more than enough time for someone to die in this city." I freeze at his words, which are innocent enough, but they bite to the bone with their truth. The reaction I have is surprisingly creepy. My lips crack with how quickly I jerk them into a broad, toothy grin, and I laugh mechanically like what he said was some hilarious knee-slapper. Apparently my efforts at trying to hide my hurt are horror-film level. A blond eyebrow rises as brown eyes narrow suspiciously at me.

"That's very true, my friend!" I laugh. "Very true, indeed!"

_Do you really think that's believable?_ _C'mon now._

Varric nods his head slowly. "Right. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you don't already know? I figured you had eyes and ears all over Kirkwall."

"I do," he confirms. "Just thought I would make pointless conversation for civility's sake."

"Ah." I hum. "Yes, well we wouldn't want to dismiss civility, now would we? Hm… Oh! I was almost turned into dragon dung earlier today. That was fun. The highlight of my week, actually." I shrug.

The dwarf is immediately interested. "A dragon, you say?"

"Yes. Unless lizards normally grow to the size of a friggin' bronto, of course."

He chuckles, "They don't. Mind giving me details about this little adventure you had? It's a shame I wasn't there."

"Oh, you wouldn't have wanted to have been there. Trust me." He gives me a pointed look and I sigh, "Okay, okay! Details… Let's see, I was searching for Ironbark with Merrill up on Sundermount when we stumbled across a dragon. It chewed on me like I was one of its toys before spitting me out. Merrill went and cast a stone prison spell thing on it which allowed me to crawl onto its back and nearly decapitate it. The end!"

Brown eyes glitter as he shakes his head sadly. "Oh, Lucky. 'Stone prison spell thing'? 'Chewed on you like you were a toy'? You need to work on exaggerating tales, or at least learn to embellish a story once in a while."

"Hey! You asked for details, Shortcake, and I delivered!" I huff and cross my arms but nearly punch myself since I still can't even feel them. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Don't worry. I'll paint you in a more _heroic_ light when I tell this story to everyone at The Hanged Man."

"Oh. Wait, what?" I sputter, "You're gonna tell people about that?"

"Of course! People love a good adventure story and it's not every day that a feisty little lady slays a dragon."

"Seriously?" I tug nervously at my hood, eyes dancing around the vacant dark street around us. "You know I'm trying to keep a low profile here! I don't need a bunch of stories floating around about me that might catch attention. I don't need everyone and their grandma knowing about how I was lit up like a Christm- like a torch!"

_"Lit up like a Christmas tree" would've worked so much better…_

"Don't worry." Varric insists like it's his new catchphrase. "I won't use your real name; I'll just use 'Lucky' and Maker knows this city isn't in short supply of people with that moniker. Now, what are you doing out here at night? I'm starting to think that you need as much supervision as Daisy."

Though I'm still antsy about the dwarf telling that story, he knows just how to hook me. My brain immediately locks on "supervision" and I practically see red. Gosh, I have issues if just the mere suggestion that I can't do something on my own sends me flying off the handle. Then again, I've always been like this since I was a child. Ever since my uncle went off on a rampage about having to babysit me when I was a kid, I've abhorred having to be watched over. It's an obnoxious trait that has landed me in hot water with a few authority figures.

"Trying to find Carver," I snap after swallowing several venomous words.

"What do you want to see him about?"

"He's out past his bedtime."

"Bedtime, eh?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Oh, puh-lease!" I roll my eyes but a laugh still manages to escape me. "He's just a kid. Besides, his _mother_ just wants him to get his rear home for dinner."

"That so?" Varric asks, disappointed that it's just something tame. "He's at The Rose."

"Again?"

"He's a bit of a regular." Varric shrugs. "Along with Rivaini."

"Ugh." I grimace, "Yeah. Okay, well thanks for the tip. And just so you know, I _don't_ need a babysitter. Hawke already acts like he's my damn keeper! So if you love me, you'll give that bastard a stern talking to for me or I'll have to tell him to kiss my ass." Just as I turn on my heel to stumble away, I hear Varric sniggering to himself.

"Careful. He might take you up on that offer, Lucky."

I wave the dwarf off over my shoulder. Yeah, yeah. My suffering is funny, I know. I'm just a damn walking slapstick comedy, what with face planting in battle and being a dragon's rawhide bone. Wait, Varric doesn't know about Hawke pranking me, does he? Knowing Isabela, she probably already blabbed about it just to have something to laugh about with the charming dwarf. Damn it. Well, hopefully she's at the brothel as well so I can get her to pick the house lock.

Shaky step after shaky step, I make my way to Hightown without drawing too much attention. Only one cowardly criminal who only had the guts to attack someone in the dead of night decided to approach me and I sent him running after throwing a few vicious threats his way. Sometimes words work better than actions. Eh, only if the person is already chicken, then it's pretty easy to shake their confidence. Don't even bother trying to demoralize a moron, though. They won't understand the insult.

Finding Carver isn't that difficult. I'm honestly surprised that the Madam even allowed him to come back after he barfed all over the table last time. Ugh, too bad I didn't get out of the splatter zone for _that_. Just thinking about the smell of it and the heat and dampness I felt through my clothes makes my throat tighten. Pukey's broad back at the bar is the first thing I see when I enter the main room. Locked on my target, I approach him swiftly and tap on his shoulder. He glances over his shoulder irritably before doing a double-take and blushing.

_So, you remember the vomit, eh?_

"Mina, what are you doing here?"

"It's dinner time." I say blandly, "Time to go home."

He frowns. "Why are you coming here to get me? Did my brother send you?"

"Your mother, actually."

"My mother?"

"Did I stutter? C'mon, let's go." I sigh. "My stomach is _dying_ here!"

"What? Your stomach?" Carver blushes even more. "Are you having dinner at my home?"

"Yes, I am." I say impatiently, "Your charming brother invited me and had your mother treat my wounds from the job Big Brother sent Merrill on. I helped, obviously, which is why I got injured."

Blue eyes dart up and down my body. "What happened?"

I inhale deeply through my nose. "Carver, are you kidding me right now? I'm _hungry_! If I could, I'd eat you right now! And not like that, you nitwit!"

He grins and narrows his eyes at me. "Why didn't you eat before you left? It's quite a walk going from one end of the city to the other. By the time we get back, everyone will have already finished their meal."

I gawk. "Then why did they bother sending me?"

"Did my mother ask my brother to go first?"

Frowning, I reply at length, " _Yes?_ "

"And you insisted on finding me?"

"Uh, yeah. Where are you going with this?"

The young swordsman rubs his chin. "My brother hardly ever takes the time to eat a warm meal at home. I suppose my mother was just taking advantage of the opportunity to get him to eat."

_Nice._

Groaning, I throw myself onto the stool next to him and press my forehead against the bar. The coolness from the polished wood makes me feel even more feverish from hunger. Ears ringing, I push myself up onto my elbows and glare down at the bar. It's been ages since I've had a real meal and I just walked away from a hot dinner to fetch a boy in a brothel. Gurgles and moans bubble up from my stomach and I sigh angrily.

"I'll buy you a drink," Carver offers and I turn my glare to him.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"No." He raises an eyebrow as he beckons for a tankard of ale. "I just thought it would be better to get something warm into your stomach."

"Alcohol is the last thing I need in my empty stomach." I argue but take the drink anyway. "If you're trying to get into my pants, don't bother. I'm not even wearing any."

The blue-eyed swordsman chokes on his ale and I can't help but grin. Ah, yes… The warmth from the ale burns my cracked lips and makes me feel less hollow, but I can already feel that this is going to end badly for both me and my belly. And maybe a bystander or two. Drinking on an empty stomach is probably the worst thing you can do, especially if you haven't had a real meal in days. Someone is going to be wearing my stomach bile and overpriced ale by the end of the night.

Glancing to the side, I see Carver shooting me looks as he keeps shifting his cup between his palms. I roll my eyes and lift my tankard. Red tinges his cheeks and he tips his head toward me before tapping my tankard with his. He barely touches the two cups together before pulling away like they're made of glass. I quirk a brow. Usually Isabela nearly sends my tankard sailing as she gives it a spirited smash with hers. Sheesh, she's more aggressive than him!

"Thanks for the drink. And I was just joking, by the way." I take a swig and cough as I try not to laugh. "About getting into my pants, I mean. I'm not wearing pants, though. I was serious about that."

Blue eyes glare at me. "Why do you keep talking about your lack of pants?"

I shrug innocently. "Just giving you a heads up."

Carver Hawke must be made of money because before I know it I've downed two more tankards and he's on his fourth. Either that or he has a tab opened up here. Sheesh, I'm going to have to pay this kid back for buying me so many drinks. I need to make a mental note of how much money I owe him. But I kind of, sort of feel like I'm forgetting something else. My alcohol addled mind sluggishly backtracks through tonight's events and I gasp as I realize I had promised to bring Carver back home quickly, taking in a lungful of heady ale in my shock.

_Ah! Hawke might come barreling through the front door any minute!_

"Are you all right?" Carver slurs worriedly as he pats my back with a heavy hand.

I wave him off. "Yeah! For cryin' out loud, stop trying to realign my spine!"

"Sorry."

"We need to go. I promised your ma that I would get you home soon. And that was two hours ago! I think! Maybe?" I shake my head as my argument loses steam.

One muscular shoulder comes up in an indifferent shrug. "She's used to me being out late. Right now, all she worries about is my brother and how he works himself to death."

Shoulders slumped forward, the young man frowns at his empty tankard before signaling for another one. Great, now he's brooding. I've done enough brooding all night to last us both a lifetime. When Carver asked how I was, the first ale in my stomach replied that I was doing "fan-freakin-tastic," and then the second divulged all of my worries about my "pal" Kiriyama's disappearance, and the third cried about Bartlett's death. We don't need any more frowny faces or tears or we'll both have to be committed.

"She worries about you." I insist as I pat his shoulder awkwardly. "If she didn't, she wouldn't have sent me after you."

"She worries about _Garrett_ , not me. She's always worried about him because of his…"

"His dazzle fingers?" I whisper conspiratorially in the hopes that none of the many young Templars being entertained by girls can hear me.

A wide grin stretches across Carver's face as he squints at me. "His _what_?"

A blush burns my cheeks. "Oh, shut up. I'm speaking in code, kid."

He glances around the room and nods. "Right. One of the many reasons my brother won't come here."

"Really? So… if I ever need to escape him, I should just run over here and hide for a bit?" I joke.

"Why would you need to escape him? I mean, yeah he can get a bit annoying but he's not a violent person. He's a decent fighter but he prefers to avoid confrontations."

_Oh-ho-ho! Getting the dish from the brother!_

Leaning forward, I cradle my chin in my palm and shoot Carver my best "sexy" grin. Well, I wouldn't really call it sexy. More like "slightly pervy" or "criminally insane." Sexy isn't my thing. I can be anything but sexy or alluring. I just don't have the face for it, or the body, or the attitude… ugh. I can do cute! Yeah, I can do cute all day long. So... I shoot Carver a "cute" grin. That's better. I shoot him a cute grin and incline my body towards him. "He avoids confrontations, you say?"

Icy eyes glance down at my barely-there chest and my feathers ruffle with pride at the slight blush on his cheeks that's just slightly distinguishable from the red hue caused by the alcohol. I've still got it, baby! Even though I've never had "it," I've got it! It may have taken enough ale to incapacitate your average teen, but I did it! Oh, I sure have sunk low, haven't I, if getting a drunk boy to look at me like I'm a woman is the highlight of my night? Yeesh, no wonder I drink.

"Well, yeah." He mumbles, "Our father always taught him to be perceptive and cunning. Garrett was so- so _uncomplaining_ about the whole thing. He just stepped up without a word after father died."

"What whole thing?"

"Being in charge of the family. Having to watch over Beth and mother and _me,_ " he spits and I flinch at how bitter he sounds and because he actually got a bit of spit on my cheek. "I don't understand why _he_ gets to be the head of the family when _I_ could do so much more. _I_ don't make Templars suspicious."

I'm not too sure Carver knows what the hell he's talking about. He's had more to drink than me, so he couldn't possibly understand what it is that he's saying. Being in charge of the safety of other people isn't a walk in the park. I should know. I took care of my grandparents for the longest time before handing the reins over to Uncle Carl when I went to live on campus. I've protected various strangers on smuggling jobs like they were my blood relatives.

It takes selflessness and hard work to be able to have someone's back totally, _completely_ , and Carver… he's just a kid. And he's pretty damn self-centered. His heart is in the right place, but being the "protector" isn't the right fit for him. Being a protector... Shit, you have to be ready and _willing_ to die for the people that you're guarding. That's a part of the position that I only acknowledge in the back of my mind. Why? Well, it's pretty freakin' stressful to constantly think "I might die today" every morning.

_And a little part of myself wants to embrace death…_

Stealing a glance at the kid, I say in the most aloof way, "You wouldn't want to be the head of the family. It's an overrated position."

"I'm fully capable of doing what my brother does. He just always _has_ to be the center of attention!" The swordsman snarls and I have to keep from bopping him on the head.

_Note to self: Don't let Carver get drunk anymore. He becomes insufferable._

"All of your problems are self-inflicted." I sigh. "Just take a big step back and look at your life, Carver. You're the only one standing in your way, you know? You've got it good! You have a loving mother and an annoying brother who gives a damn. Not being the head of the family gives you a _world_ of opportunity. You can be and do whatever it is you want! Don't waste your time pining for something that you'll never have."

"And what of you? Aren't _your_ problems self-inflicted?" He snaps back.

"Yes, I _am_ the root of all my problems. At least I admit it. I don't go pointing fingers and having pity parties."

_You dirty liar!_

His pale face turns a lovely shade of red and it isn't from the ale or the sight of scantily clad men and women. I gnaw on my lower lip. I'm treading dangerous waters. He glowers, "Mina! I-!"

I lean forward and thumb his nose with a grin, something that I used to do to Mike when he would take things too seriously. Carver blinks, bewildered, before fire burns in his eyes once more. Yeah, Mike never liked it too much, either. Apparently Carver took my joking gesture as a personal attack. Man, this kid has some major issues. He acts like the entire world is out to get him. I don't know if he's paranoid or something else entirely. What I _do_ know is that I now have to do some damage control. "You're _nineteen_ , Carver. The way I was raised, you're still a kid!" He glares and I glare right back, "Now, don't go trying to make me burst into flames with your mind. Only your brother can do that!"

_Oops! Abort mission!_

Wow. I sure do know how to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. I wince as he abruptly stands, sending his chair back with a cringe-worthy screech. He whirls around to storm off and I foolishly grab onto his arm to make him stay. Yeah, right! Like I could possibly make this muscular guy stay put by latching onto his arm like a leech? I'm pulled right off of my seat and sent sprawling across the floor with my ale all over me. The tankard skitters away with a clatter and my face flushes against the cool tile of the floor.

_I sure am kissing a lot of dirt lately._

Carver swears harshly but everyone continues on like nothing happened. Thank goodness for that! Even though I'm tipsy, it doesn't mean that I can't get embarrassed. A person falling drunk out of their seat is probably a common occurrence here at The Rose. Funny how _that's_ common but a boy spewing chunks is grounds for getting kicked out. Despite his raging animosity towards me, Carver hoists me up by my arms, slams a few coins on the bar, and pulls me after him.

Humid air greets us as he opens the door and we come to an abrupt halt once we're outside. The red light from The Rose's lantern makes the swordsman look as though he's been bathed in blood and I grimace. It's eerie. I sway unsteadily on my feet as I wait for him to make his move since he won't let go of my arm no matter how many times I flail it like a limp noodle. If he wants to hit me, I'll be powerless to stop him in my current state. And I gotta admit: I kinda deserve it right now.

_Eh, let's be real here. I'd be powerless to stop him while sober._

Maybe he'll leave me behind to fend for myself? I'm sure I'll encounter more than just a bit of resistance on the way back to Lowtown, so that would be punishment enough for my mouth. I wonder if I can pay a sex worker to walk me home? But I doubt a sex worker will be able to fight off thugs for me while I'm doubly numb from alcohol and burn salve. Gosh, I'm just the genius of Kirkwall, aren't I? Who gets drunk when they're already incapacitated by medicine?

"I know that I whine a lot, but I just want to do _something_." Carver states as he turns slowly and I catch sight of a pained look in his eyes before it's snuffed out. "You don't know how frustrating it is to constantly be in someone's shadow. Nothing I ever do is good enough, not with my brother around. Nothing I ever do will be good enough."

I jerk out of my thoughts at the low timbre of his voice. This sounds awfully familiar. Not the tone of his voice, but what he's saying. When it came to my mother, I was always overshadowed by my brother- her favorite. Running a hand over my hood, I sigh. Right now I feel really bad for Carver. It's hard enough as it is to find yourself and I personally know it's even harder to find your identity when you're constantly being overshadowed by a brilliant sibling. Not that Hawke is brilliant…

"Jeez, Carver. You're such a buzzkill."

Surprisingly enough, he grins. "Well, that's not what I expected, but it's better than you not taking me seriously."

Mischief has been running through my veins since birth, so it's only natural that I cock my head and wink. I'm tangling with danger right now. Carver and I aren't exactly best buds and I'm not entirely sure of his mental stability. He could lop my head off right here and now for being so flippant but that doesn't stop my mouth. When alcohol is in the mix, I tend to lose my filter along with common sense. And common sense is telling me to shut the hell up while I'm still alive.

Grinning, I say, "I never take you seriously, Carver. You're about as vicious as a kitten throwing a temper tantrum."

Blue eyes glint dangerously, their depths seeming to swallow all of the available light until they glow. "That's your first mistake. You should start taking me more seriously." He takes a step forward and grips my shoulders almost painfully. Sirens blare in my head and I think he's going to knee me in the gut or something. Wincing, I prepare myself for some new bruises and a cut or two. But then he lowers his face towards mine, eyes starting to close. Mouth falling open, I gape as he approaches.

_Oh, no!_

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, _no_! Why must I always be tested and tempted? Isn't it enough that I've been subjected to physical and psychological torture at the hands of a blood mage? Can't I get a pass to avoid all types of torture from the likes of Isabela (well, can you still say you've been tempted if you've already sort of indulged in the temptation?) and now _Carver_? God! He reminds me of my _brother_ and here he is, leaning in for the kill!

"You know," I start in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice that makes the young swordsman jump, "I should go home. It's late and, uh, I need to sleep. Your brother has another job for me, I think." The mere mention of his brother seems to kill the mood as I'm released from Carver's grasp.

_Yes, Garrett Hawke: The Anti-Aphrodisiac._

"Right." Carver sighs, releasing my shoulders, "I'll walk you home."

I shake my head furiously. "No thanks. I need to see Isabela about something."

"Isabela?"

"Yes. I need her to pick my lock."

He stares at me for a long moment and I can't help but blush. What's with all the staring? Is it possible to explode due to embarrassment? Because I think that might happen to me at any moment. Chunks of Mina will paint this little courtyard in the red-light district of Kirkwall. People will ask how I died and Carver will say "Because I stared at her for too long." That sounds like a really lame way to go. That's a very un-Mina-like way to go. If I'm going to die, I'll go out with a bang. The explosion doesn't count, though, as a "bang."

"Oh. You and Isabela?" Carver asks uncomfortably.

My brow puckers. "Me and Isabela… what?"

"You're together?"

Eyes nearly popping out, I shout, "No! Damn, Carver!"

He blushes and looks away with a frown. "You said that you need her to pick your-"

"Je-sus!" I interrupt. "That was so _not_ a euphemism! I got locked out of my frickin' house! I need her to pick an _actual_ lock!"

Impossibly enough, he blushes even harder. "O-Oh. I guess… I guess I'll go now."

"Yes, please." I sigh. Gladly I let him go. I honestly don't think I can handle any more awkwardness. So when he's disappeared down the steps leading to Lowtown, I turn around and begin my search for my pirate friend in the musky depths of the brothel. Senses choked by incense, I'm surprised by my luck when I catch her just as she's exiting a room, looking quite pleased with herself. She spots me immediately and shoots me a broad grin before frowning as she drinks in the state I'm in. The pirate approaches me swiftly.

Her sharp eyes don't miss the bandages that cover every inch of the exposed skin on my body. "What happened to you?" She looks at me seriously. "You look a bit red and very _bandage-y_."

"I need your help." I reply, skirting around her question. "I lost my house key."

Is rolls her eyes. "I thought I taught you how to pick locks already."

"Meh, I wasn't really paying attention." I shrug dispassionately and she snorts.

"Come on then. But I get to sleep over! My room at The Man needs a bit of cleaning."

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, Isabela is no longer sprawled out on Kiriyama's bed with her butt in the air and her face firmly planted in the pillow. Everything feels empty from the loft upstairs to my growling stomach. Frustrated, I snatch up the pouch of coin Isabela had left for me on the table and head out to buy something to eat and a few things to replace the supplies that I lost to the dragon. I get back home quickly with bread, tea leaves, and all the water I can carry, and set to work making myself some tea and peeling off my bandages. The salve Mama Hawke made worked wonders, but my flesh is left speckled with little brown freckles and it's not nearly as smooth as it once was.

Truthfully, my skin has the texture of soft leather and that sort of grosses me out. Using some water to wash myself, I feel relatively clean which comes as an immense relief. I wish I could take a scalding hot shower, though. That would be so therapeutic right now. Oh, a shower with _real_ shampoo and conditioner and soap that doesn't leave my skin dry! That would be absolute heaven. Just as I've put on fresh clothes, relished in my ability to feel my limbs once more, and the water has come to a boil, someone knocks on my door. Really, when isn't anyone knocking on my door? Grumbling to myself, I open the door and am hit with a strange sense of déjà vu, sans Anders.

"Hello, Merrill."

"Good morning, Mina!" The little elf chirps.

I step aside and allow her inside without another word. Her pale hands hold a strange box which she seems physically attached to as she sits at the table and keeps the box firmly in her grasp. Quirking a brow, I offer her some tea which she eagerly accepts and we drink quietly for a moment before I remember that I had purchased some sweet bread. Just thinking about that thick crust of sugar that sits atop the warm (expensive) bread in an appetizing layer makes me shiver with anticipation.

"Would you like some bread?" I ask nicely as I pull a chunk of the sugary stuff off for myself, pop it into my mouth, and nearly moan. Large green eyes watch my every move and I begin to feel self-conscious about how I'm chewing the bread. Merrill's dark head bobs once and I give her a large piece if only to keep her from looking at me. I clear my throat. "So, to what do I owe this pleasant visit?"

"Hawke gave me our pay for the job," she replies swiftly before slapping down several silver pieces. "I, uh, well I also got something for you. A thank-you gift."

My eyes light up. "Really?"

A blush tints her cheeks as she carefully places the box on the table and pushes it towards me. Giving her an inquisitive look, I pick up the box and flick the lid off. Inside the box is a circular container and a thick cloth along with my old chainmail. It takes me a while to recognize the two items as the exact things I need to spruce up Slicer. A big grin spreads across my face as I hurry over to my bed and pick up my Lord so I can start buffing all of the scorch marks out of the lackluster blade. All the while, the elven mage watches me intently.

_Okay, this is getting weird. Say "thank you."_

"Thank you!" I beam.

"It was no trouble. I know how much you love your sword."

"Um…" I rub the cloth over the blade in methodical circles, "did you sleep well?"

"I did, yes."

"Uh-huh, that's good."

"Did you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I'm glad."

Smiling tightly, I rub a little harder.

_Awkward. Awkward. Awkward._

"Mina?"

I jump and nearly drop Slicer. "Yes?"

Emerald dances over the sword in my hands for a moment before locking onto my eyes. "Mina, I need something from you."

_Uh…_

"Oh?" I ask neutrally, "What do you need?"

"Your friendship," she replies seriously.

I try not to laugh as I stop cleaning my Lord and look at her gravely. "For how long?"

"Well," she mumbles with a furrowed brow, "at least until one of us dies, I suppose."

_Wow…_

And I thought my baby brother was socially awkward? Though Mike may have glared at everything that moved or questioned his logic, at least he didn't ever propose friendship in such a ridiculously absurd manner. But I suppose I can't blame the girl for the strange wording of her proposal. Judging by how she seemed to be the pariah of the Dalish camp, she probably never really had the conventional friendship that all children should experience. Or maybe the Dalish have a different way of expressing friendship? Too bad any friendship with me will be far from conventional since I have a tendency to randomly invade people's heads.

I keep this in mind as I reply slowly, "It's a deal."

Merrill startles. "Hm? Really?"

"Of course! I never say anything that I don't mean."

_Eh, that's a lie._

Her eyes are big and shiny. "You'll be my friend? Really?"

"Yeah! To be perfectly honest, I kinda already thought we _were_ friends. Besides," I continue flippantly, "I'm in dire need of more friends. All of my other friends are either dead or off doing illegal things."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Not about your friends being dead, though. Sorry."

Waving her off, I finish cleaning Slicer and place him on my bed. I'm about to go and eat some more bread when Merrill suddenly gasps. On instinct I dive for the bed to brandish Slicer and look around wildly. When I don't spot anything dangerous, I turn my curious gaze onto the blushing elf. She looks down at her feet bashfully before meeting my gaze. I raise an eyebrow when her cheeks color. Merrill mumbles, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just noticed your hair."

With a frown, I run my fingers through my short hair and stare at her lazily. "Yeah, I had to have a lot of it cut off."

Merrill smiles. "It's pretty." After a few more awkward seconds, she asks, "Are you always on your guard?"

Blinking, I realize that I'm still crouched into an defensive position with my Lord firmly in my hands. Shoulders squared, legs spread apart and braced, body hunched over; and I notice just how tense all of my muscles are and how my heart races with adrenaline. Man, I really need to change my line of work. Relaxing my posture, I saunter over towards the table and swipe up the silver coins from the last job like I wasn't just poised to kill. Weighing them in my hands, I look at the curious elf and shrug. "Guess I am."

"That's very interesting. I remember when you fought those Darkspawn you were shouting some strange things. You're a very fierce warrior."

"Strange things?"

She nods. "Yes, you kept saying things like 'Get some!' and 'Remember the Alamo!' it was very odd."

Hand slapped firmly across my mouth, I try desperately not to laugh. That's just… rich. Especially in her airy voice with that heavy accent to boot. I shoot her a grin. "Oh, that's just something from a story I read once. It was about a fictional battle over a _castle_ called the Alamo. The warriors fought bravely to defend it but ultimately they were all slaughtered."

Looking horrified, Merrill asks, "Why would you say _that_ , then? Wouldn't you want to use a phrase from a battle where the defenders weren't killed?"

I scoff defensively. "It was a good story!"

"Oh, Mina." Merrill sighs like I'm a lost cause. "Though I would like to give you more positive things to shout in battle, I'm here for another reason and I probably shouldn't get distracted. Varric told me this morning that Hawke wants you to meet him outside Kirkwall as soon as possible."

_Aw, what?_

"Merrill-"

The elf gives me a stern look. "I know that you're still very tired from our last job, but according to Varric it's a _very_ important mission."

Money. I have some money but I need _more_. Inhaling deeply, I suck up my complaints, nod my head, and prepare for work. The elven mage watches me for a while before excusing herself and promising to see me later. Wearing my second-best belt, boots, and gloves, I realize how much I really liked all of my gear and mourn their passing as I head out of the city in boots that pinch my toes, gloves that make my hands sweat, and a belt that's too clunky.

_At least this job will help me buy_ _more stuff to fill the void_ _._

It's bright and shiny out and there's not a cloud in the sky this morning. Too bad all the sunlight in the world can't make Kirkwall look like a pleasant city. The light just illuminates all the creeping criminals and accentuates the cadaverous look that the beggars all seem to have. Guilt claws at my conscience as I shake off an urchin and hurry out of town. I push my way through the scourge and am almost relieved when I find myself in the company of Hawke, Anders, and Varric.

Anders smiles pleasantly. "You got here quickly. We're in need of some muscle."

"Ha!" I grin. "I think you have more muscle than me, twirling around that fancy stick of yours."

"There you go again with all of that dirty talk." Varric reproaches, "You sexual pervert."

I blink slowly at the dwarf and ask in monotone, "How did you find out?"

"Someone needs our help over on the Wounded Coast." Hawke announces over our banter. "The letter asking for aid wasn't signed, so I thought it would be best to bring along proper reinforcements in case of an ambush. Don't worry about being out too late since this shouldn't take too long."

Anders smiles fondly at Hawke. "Smart thinking."

"Psh." I smirk at the blond mage. "Suck up."

Anders shoots me a half-hearted glare and Varric bumps my elbow with a grin. As if he's completely disappointed in us all, Hawke shakes his head and starts down the road. Dutifully, we follow like good little minions but we still make small talk and constantly poke fun at each other. Varric manages to convince Anders that I'm a frequent customer at The Rose and now the mage has joined him in making admittedly funny comments about my promiscuity that make me blush.

We fight off a few drakes and I can't help but wince at the memory of yesterday and Varric sees this as the perfect opportunity to bring up my "amazing" battle against an elite "High Dragon." Anders is all ears until he accidentally triggers a bear trap at which point Varric and I explode into hysterical laughter because of the high-pitched squeal the mage makes when the metal contraption latches onto his boot. We laugh freely when we realize the trap is old and doesn't have much force behind it to do any actual damage to the healer.

After freeing himself, he glares at me and asks Varric to continue. When the over-stuffed story is over, I find that I've been smiling stupidly at the sound of Varric's melodious voice and both men jump to tease me about it. Though it annoys me a bit that they're ganging up on me, I'm proud to say that I can hold my own against them, having had grown up with mouthy Uncle Carl and a brother who never hesitated to poke fun at me.

Our barbs border between hilarious and harsh and I'm starting to worry that I might say something to hurt the blond mage's feelings. I don't worry about hurting _Varric's_ feelings, oh no. That dwarf has skin made of stone and a tongue sharp enough to make your ears bleed. And his wit is just as sharp, if not sharper.

"Ser Thrask?"

The three of us stop laughing about a caustic joke Varric made at Anders' expense when we hear our leader's voice. Swiveling my head in Hawke's direction, I see him talking to a red-headed Templar. On instinct I whip out a dagger and hide it behind my back. A _mage_ talking to a _Templar_? Yeah, that isn't really a situation that I want to deal with, but Hawke helps me put bread on the table. Hawke quite literally helps me put bread on the table, since the only food I've been able to buy in a while _has been bread_. But that's beside the point since now it's becoming apparent that Hawke _knows_ this man and I feel like a humongous moron for even thinking about going all _Psycho_ and stabbing this Templar.

_Well, better safe than sorry._

I'm able to get the gist of what the Templar Thrask is saying and according to him, there are a bunch of Starkhaven apostates hiding out in a cave and more Templars are coming to send them to the Kirkwall Circle or kill them if they don't come willingly. Thrask doesn't want the mages to be executed and makes a point of guilt-tripping our group since we have apostates among _our_ ranks. Truthfully, I'm tempted to tell this Thrask to just let the Maker take the wheel or some shit. Why? Because I'm selfish and don't have time to deal with Thedas' rampant social issues. And if Thrask actually gave a shit about mages he wouldn't be a Chantry lapdog.

It's no great secret that the Chantry is the great and loving oppressive force of Thedas- like the helicopter parent of the world, trying to police everyone with fear mongering. I was bitch-slapped by that sorry fact when I was stood up on a smuggling gig. My partner didn't show. Initially I was pissed and went to go and find out what the hell happened. Turned out my partner's young son had been taken by Templars to be confined to the Circle and my partner had been killed for refusing to hand over his child. So, this Thrask and his little mission? It's a blatant, floundering attempt at gaining some form of absolution.

And, of course, I don't say a damn thing about it.

"I may have been merciful to Feynriel, but he was just a boy. These mages knew what they were getting themselves into when they fled the Circle," Hawke says gravely as he passes Ser Thrask and enters the mouth of the cave. "I will talk to the mages but I can't promise you that this will end pleasantly. However, I will make sure that I flush the apostates out using any means necessary."

_Any means necessary? Fuuuuuuudge…_

I suddenly realize I've been wincing the whole time since Hawke started talking. I look from Anders to Varric to Hawke's back for some confirmation that I didn't just imagine that. One would think that Garrett Hawke, being an apostate himself, would be falling all over himself to help the apostates no matter the cost. What he just said didn't sound like it came from a mage and the  _other_ mage in the group looks like he's about to blow a gasket. My nose burns when I inhale too sharply and exhale loudly through my mouth. "That was… diplomatic?" I'm still wincing as I pass the unusually pale Thrask.

The blond mage fumes, "We aren't really going to kill all those innocent mages, are we?"

Anders is furious, storming after Hawke with magic practically crackling off of him. Keeping a safe distance behind him, I walk next to Varric and toss the dwarf a few wary glances in the hopes that he'll offer me some sort of comic relief from this bizarre situation. He catches my eye and offers me a warm grin. It doesn't take away from the awkwardness and I look ahead at the blond mage who is currently tailing his fellow apostate and talking at his back a mile a minute about mage rights or something.

Although they're both mages, Hawke and Anders don't seem to see eye to eye. In fact, I don't think Garrett Hawke sees eye to eye with _anyone_ but his mother and his adopted father figure, Varric. Judging by the way he shrugs off Anders and pulls out the Leader Card by telling the blond that he's out of line, I don't think Hawke sees things the way Anders does. To Anders, who went so far as to let a spirit inhabit his body, one should do _everything_ in their power to help mages be free. But Hawke? He has a family, not a martyr complex.

"How're you holding up, Lucky?"

I snap out of my thoughts and focus on my small companion in the cave's dim light. "I'm fine, Shortcake. Just… thinking. You?"

His warm eyes drift from my face to Hawke's rigid back. "Yeah, me too."

Nodding, I offer him a wan grin. "Thinking is dangerous."

We chuckle softly amongst ourselves at my pitiful attempt to lighten the mood before falling silent once more. Over his shoulder, Anders throws us an irritated look. How can we be laughing at a time like this? Have we no shame or common decency? He should know better based on his previous interactions with us and how we had laughed at him when he got his leg caught in a bear trap. Varric and I are the King and Queen of Inappropriate Reactions. If this was a funeral, one of us might even crack a joke about dying of boredom.

"Look out!"

It's Varric who shouts and it's Anders who walks right into yet another trap, but this time it's a spider trap and instead of just getting his boot scuffed he ends up in a sort of cocoon. Suddenly there are about four giant spiders and an apostate all crammed into the narrow pathway. I'm about to go and guard the strange mage but he doesn't look too innocent when he summons a battalion of skeletal warriors to fight us. Anders gives a sharp yelp as a spider attacks him, but Varric and Hawke are too busy fighting off their own enemies to help.

Swearing under my breath, I skid to a halt before raising my sword and shouting fiercely, "Hey, all you ugly bastards! I'm the one you want!"

_Works like a charm! Now prepare to be eaten alive, you stupid martyr._

I can play the role of the savage warrior like it was made for me as long as I don't think about all the "what ifs." What if I can't protect the group? What if I'm not strong enough? What if my allies die? What if _I_ die? All of these things running through my mind are enough to make me sick, to make me falter, but I shove those thoughts away and focus on my anger, my hate, my primal desire to live no matter what it takes.

Slicer fully lives up to his name as I swing him back and forth through the hairy bodies. Varric's bolts whizz through the air and jets of fire and ice bounce off the cave walls. The spiders hiss and squirm as gashes mar their ugly bodies, oozing blood and slick goo. This is nothing. Killing spiders? I could do this all day long. I could hack up spiders, slash apart demons, and demolish the undead. My feet freeze to the ground as I point my blade at the apostate.

But _people_? Unarmed people who aren't really a direct threat? My breath catches, "Stand down." My voice comes out like a rasp as I match the man's crazed gaze. Those beady black eyes are almost unseeing in their haze of fear and hunger for power. Nostalgia grips my heart in a soft caress as a shaky hand lifts his staff. His _staff_. He's an armed person who _is_ a direct threat. The familiar feel of dark energy clouds around the staff and stifles my breathing, but it all abruptly stops when a bolt lodges itself in his forehead.

The apostate drops to the ground just as Anders cries out, "No! Varric!"

I'm almost knocked to the side, sword still raised but pointing at nothing, as Anders rushes to the dead man's side. Wide caramel eyes glare up at me before fixating behind me. Numbly, I place my sword back onto my back and swallow hard. That was a strange reaction. Does all blood magic affect me in such weird ways? If so, I might need to start distancing myself from a peppy little elf that I know and owe a Mabari pup to.

"Mina had it under control! You didn't have to _kill_ him!" Anders scolds. "He was just desperate, like a cornered animal!"

"If I didn't kill him, he would have hurt Lucky," Varric scoffs, sidling up beside me.

I stupidly nod my head in thanks and he bumps my elbow, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Heat sears my cheeks and I turn my attention back on Anders who is now glaring daggers at me. I glare right back. "He's right. That mage was about to use more blood magic when Shortcake shot him." I cross my arms, irritated that the safety of a stranger is taking priority over me. "Not all apostates are as innocent as you'd like to think. Besides, I thought you didn't like _blood mages?_ "

Hawke is already up ahead of us, too good to have to listen to our petty arguments. I brush by Anders and shadow our stoic leader, not daring to look back. Really, I shouldn't take it to heart so much that Anders is so wrapped up in his own agenda. Everyone has a right to their own opinion, right? Heaven forbid I happen to mention that I personally don't see anything wrong with some mages like Carrow being put in the Circle. You're supposed to imprison evil people and a magic prison like the Circle works for evil mages. However, you're not supposed to imprison people who  _might_ be evil. That's some borderline "Minority Report" shit right there.

"Do you think me a hypocrite?"

I gasp and look up to see that Hawke is matching my stride. "Uh, no. Not really." I rub my neck when gold darts in my direction, "I mean, kinda. Yeah, you're sort of coming across like a bit of a hypocrite. _You're_ free and these mages aren't. Then again, these apostates are the ones who got themselves trapped. Who hides in a friggin' cave? The only things you find in caves are dead-ends and giant spiders."

"You're rambling. It was a simple question."

"And I answered it." I snap with a blush. "I was just trying to make you feel less like an ass."

"I _don't_ feel like an ass. What you said is true: if they got themselves trapped in a cave then they won't be able to make it for very long on the run. They're reckless and recklessness as an apostate can quickly lead to death at the hands of Templars and unsympathetic people or even enslavement. It's better that this ends quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible. If these mages are smart, they'll surrender and won't force the hand of the Templars."

I shrug meekly. "Well, I mean… you sort of put words in my mouth. But yeah, pretty much."

A smirk tugs at his lips and I have to dig deep down to keep from tripping him. Behind us I can hear Anders trudging along, trying to win Varric over to his side but the dwarf keeps dancing around the mage's serious words. I'm given more thinking time when we have to fight off the undead and I don't even pay any attention to the head mage's apprentice since I'm so caught up in my own thoughts. I'm having a hard time dealing with this situation on a moral level.

Our friendly blond mage is put through the ringer when we finally find the apostates and they refuse to keep things peaceful. They're all off their rockers, tainted by blood magic and corrupted by their own need for power. We have no choice but to dispatch the hostiles whether we want to or not. It's kill or be killed with these people who are acting more like trapped animals than human beings. As I ram my blade through a woman's chest, a bit of sympathy bleeds through as I really think about what it is that these people want.

_All they want is freedom. But they're dangerous._

"Stop!" An apostate woman begs. "Please, we just want to leave! We haven't resorted to blood magic," she insists, gesturing to herself and the other remaining mages.

Hawke glowers. "And how do you expect to get out of here when the Templars are on their way?"

"There's just the one out there right now. If you could kill him for us, we could get away before the others arrive!"

I have a sneaking suspicion that people roll their eyes a lot at this lady. If we kill a _Templar_ , fire will come raining down on our heads for it. Ser Thrask trusted us to get these dumbasses out of the cave and turning around to put the dagger in his back would be a despicable move on our part, even if it does ensure "freedom" for these nuts and even if he is a Chantry lapdog. And if Hawke decides to kill Thrask that would be _even worse_ because he's an apostate and that would put his entire family in jeopardy if it was ever found out that he took part in the murder of a Templar.

There'd be nowhere for Hawke to run because the Chantry's reach is far. I've been in this world long enough to know that those zealots at the Chantry get their panties all in a twist if their "righteous army" is harmed. If I were Hawke, I would be very careful. Thank _God_ I'm not a mage! Although the powers are pretty awesome, they have to be extremely careful not to blow their cover if they want to stay out of the Circle. What's funny is that I'm somehow able to table my mage phobia long enough to realize that not all mages are lunatics who should be imprisoned, yet the Chantry never got that memo in the many years that it's been around.

This is a bad situation all around. Hawke is a decent person and I like his mom. I would hate for that nice lady to have to lose her oldest son and the breadwinner of the family. Plus, I would probably have to face the wrath of Carver if his older bro got thrown behind bars while on my watch. Certainly I would give someone hell if they let _my_ brother get imprisoned. However, these people might not be crazy like the ones we killed and we could possibly be condemning them to death. I'll repeat: It's a bad situation. And yet I find myself stepping between Hawke and the woman anyway.

I sneer, "Lady, are you out of your damn mind? Do you really expect us to get the Templars on our backs because you were dumb enough to go running into a cave?" Laughing at the ridiculousness of her suggestion, I throw my hands into the air, "And you have the audacity to ask this of us after nearly _killing_ us?"

"It's just one Templar." Anders argues and I think maybe I'm in the Twilight Zone because that's such a ludicrous statement. "Think about it, Hawke. Freedom for all of these people and all we have to do is kill one Templar."

_Who's playing the devil's advocate?_

"You mean kill one _man_." I hiss. "Even though he's a Chantry lapdog, he's putting his neck on the line for these people. These mages could escape again and maybe snag a friggin' map so this shitshow doesn't happen again. Live and freakin' learn, Anders." I'm trying to soften the blow, but Anders' tone about Thrask being "just" a Templar boggles my mind. He's sounding exactly like a Templar talking about an apostate. Plus, he isn't even considering the repercussions this could have for Hawke. If we do this, Hawke's life will be _ruined_.

Caramel eyes spear through me. "And just because these people are mages it doesn't mean that they don't deserve a chance at a free life."

"I never said that. You may be all for killing that Templar, but whose head will that murder fall on?" I cross my arms and glare at the mages and Anders. "It'll fall on the rest of us because you're all obviously too chicken-shit to do your own dirty work. You'd rather some _other_ people take the fall for you and y'all just get off scot-free."

"I'm not too sure what that term means, but we could just _lie_ about it." Varric shrugs as he tries to play the part of the peacemaker. "We'll just tell the Templars that we had to kill all the mages, and once they leave the mages can get out of here."

"And if that doesn't work?" Hawke asks, throwing me an unreadable look.

"Then we must kill the Templars," the woman says with conviction.

I glare at her. "Who are _you_?"

She blinks at me curiously, "I'm Grace."

"Well shove it, Grace! Nobody asked your sorry ass for your damn opinion!" I turn to Hawke and give a frustrated sigh, "If you wanna fight Templars, so be it. But keep in mind that you have a family to watch over."

"What are you saying?" He asks with that same undecipherable expression.

"I'm saying that…" I pause to try to sort through all of my thoughts to form a coherent sentence, "that it wouldn't be wise for _you,_ of all people, to kill any Templars. I mean, I'll do it for you. But only if I absolutely have to." I shrug. "I'll take less heat for it since I'm not a mage and I don't have any family here. I could just pick up my things and go if need be. Shit, I already do a load of illegal things so cold-blooded murder will just punch another hole in my villain card."

_Yeah, that makes sense… Wait, what!_

"Interesting," the dark-haired mage murmurs to himself before turning on his heel and heading back the way we came.

"What are you going to do?" Anders calls after him as he hurries along.

Hawke glances back. "Varric, I trust that I can count on you to back up any story I come up with?"

The dwarf nods with a devious grin. "Of course."

Throwing Grace one last disgruntled look, I bring up the rear. Something weird makes my stomach hurt as I follow the others sluggishly. Is it guilt? I came on this job for one purpose: to protect the group. The well-being of these three men takes precedence over the wishes of a group of strangers. But the nagging feeling doesn't abate no matter how many times I rationalize my argument. Whatever. The apostates are going free thanks to Varric's suggestion and now I know to stay out of Mage-Templar arguments since I'll probably end up feeling like crap after all is said and done. Too bad I didn't stay out of it in the first place.

"It's cute when you get all worked up."

My eyes fly to Varric. "What?"

Boots scuffing against the dirt, he slows down to match my lethargic pace. "Your cheeks turn red and you start breathing heavily like a short, green Aveline."

"Nice." I chuckle and flick his ponytail, "I'm glad that you were entertained."

"I wasn't necessarily entertained. Though, it was kind of funny when you told that woman to shove it. Hawke looked like he was going to die of laughter."

"Hawke die of laughter? What planet are you living on, Shortcake?"

I'm gifted with a haughty look. "Obviously you have yet to learn all of Hawke's facial expressions. That one was called 'amused.'"

"All of his facial expressions? You mean all one of them?" I snort and he laughs.

"Quiet, now. He has acute hearing." The rogue nods towards the back of our leader's head. "He may have allowed me to tell you that he was amused, but I doubt he'll let me live if I tell you what the other expression was."

_Creepy._

Light glistens off of the damp cave walls and I tug my cowl down a bit to shield my eyes. More than one figure is illuminated at the mouth of the cave and I bite my lip and glance at Varric. He nods his head and makes his way to Hawke's side so he can back up whatever lie the mage comes up with, leaving me with a rather distant Anders. The air between the blond mage and myself is a far cry from the jovial mood we started this mission off with. Great! I pissed off one of the people who knows part of my secret. I wonder if a fruit basket will be enough to erase my harsh words from his memory?

"Unfortunately, we had to kill all of the mages since they wouldn't come peacefully," Hawke says in response to the critical looks from the Templars.

"Yup." Varric nods. "Enchanter Hawke, here, sorted it all out. Killed every last one of 'em. There was blood everywhere. No survivors."

Lips pursed, I try not to laugh. Is this his idea of making Hawke's lie more believable? Eh, it's kinda weird that I find all of this funny, actually. I guess it's just my brain's way of relieving all of this built up tension. Unfortunately this is a pretty bad time to relieve stress by laughter, what with Templars trying to glare us into oblivion. The slimy looking leader, who introduced himself rather pointlessly as Karras, notices my watering eyes and sneers. "Crying for the loss of the fugitives' lives?"

I shake my head. "No. I just realized that you're all celibate and it's such a terrible waste."

_Out of all the things to say... Why?_

Thrask goes as red as his hair and I can see Anders giving me a bewildered look from my peripheral vision. He's probably thinking that Varric was actually serious about me frequenting The Blooming Rose and that I really do have some Chantry-boy fetish. Speaking of Varric, I can only imagine how he's going to give me hell after this. I make it so easy for him to make fun of me. Blank faced, Karras applauds our massacre of the mages and goes on his merry way with Thrask in tow to follow a false lead that Varric gave while I was internally berating myself.

"You were right, Hawke." I say before anyone can get a word in, "That was fast. I'll be going home now."

Before I can power-walk away, Hawke calls out my name and I freeze. "Your pay," the mage drawls as he hands me a few coins.

"Thank you."

"I'll need to see you tomorrow for a few more jobs. Be ready at dawn."

_Doesn't he ever sleep?_

With a tight grin, I nod. "Of course!" And then I'm hurrying off back to Kirkwall with my tail between my legs.


	25. Kiriyama: 08. Oversight

**Kiriyama: 08. Oversight**

Days drag on. The sun filters in through the small windows before sinking away and out of sight, taking the warmth along with it. This happens several times, and in that time Carrow busies himself with finishing his errands himself and fashioning snares out of metal and wire. Iron rods sit in the fire, glowing red with heat; books litter the floor, opened at random marked up pages. A thick stink fills the air, caused by the bird corpses that hang from the ceiling with their small throats sliced open. Little dishes sit below each and every one of them, catching crimson droplets and the occasional feather.

I'm simply a spectator in my own life.

After a long while, the dishes of blood are collected and dumped into a communal pot. Bitter smelling plants are finely sliced and diced, minced and some even pureed before being mixed with the blood and set above the roaring fire. It sits for days. This is a poultice, Carrow had said, the only thing known to effectively combat the paralyzing effects of Michael's unusual power. After he told me this, he resumed his newfound hobby of ignoring me and treating me like I'm just another piece of furniture to be walked by and overlooked. Once, he almost sat on me.

The room smells horrible today, like pungent garlic and clotted blood in the damp heat. I've been immobile so long that it's driving me insane. I can't speak, can't blink, and the only thing that brings me any relief is knowing that Carrow has been working day and night on the poultice that he swears will snap my body out of its state of shock. The mage hasn't spoken about it much, though, and went out earlier in the day to drop off the dragon scales so they could be fashioned into a pair of gloves. He's anxious about something and I can only guess that that something- or better yet _someone_ \- is Michael. I'm also worried about him.

A low creak alerts me that Carrow has returned from his errands and I watch as he quickly makes his way to the pot that boils over with red-hot animal blood and wilted plants. Soft words trickle from his lips as he stirs the concoction a few times before spooning some out with a ladle and into a shallow wooden bowl. Boney fingers wave over the dark liquid and steam erupts from it with a hiss as the mage chills his creation into a thick slush with his magic. If it could, my throat would tighten at the odor that seems to smell even more like rot and decay. Pale blue eyes lock onto me.

"This might burn a tad, dear friend, but it will only work if the poultice is freezing. It is the only way to shock any feeling back into your body." Two fingers dip into the slush and he grimaces. "My, that _is_ cold! If it were hot, though, it would only relax your body for a few moments. Cold is a more permanent solution. We will have to apply this for a few days, well, _you_ will. You are a grown man, so I am sure you can apply a simple poultice to your own body once you are up and moving again."

He extends his fingers to drag the thick mixture down the length of my throat before spreading it up and along my face. I only start to feel anything when he begins to rub it into my arms and chest. Icy pinpricks tingle along every place that he touched, leaving a trail of freezing fire for the briefest moment before relaxing warmth spreads through my nerves. Exhaustion makes my eyelids droop and my head loll back onto the overstuffed cushion of the armchair and I realize just how tense every single muscle in my body was. I don't think I'll touch Michael again even if it _does_ mean saving him from a nasty fall if this is what he'll do to me.

Carrow clears his throat. "I take it you can speak?"

"Ye-Yes," I whisper, voice faint and scratchy.

Eyes like ice chips glance up from his place at my feet. "Did you slay him?"

My brow crinkles and a bit of the now flaky poultice floats down to attach to my eyelashes and I blink it away. "What?"

"That's the only explanation I could come up with as to why you returned in a state of paralysis."

"Are you… talking about Michael?"

"Who else would I be talking about?" He snaps before getting to his feet and ladling out more of the smelly stuff. "Obviously you had to have killed him or you yourself would be dead. He is not exactly the sort to let his prey escape."

He's talking about Michael as if he's an animal. Certainly he behaved like one when he fought and when he was angered but I can't find it in myself to think of him as some feral creature because of his relation to Mina. And the fact that he's her brother just makes things so much worse. My stomach wouldn't be in so many knots if it was some nobody that I lost in the snowy region outside of Orzammar with its bears and wolves and dragons. 

"Didn't… kill him."

"I find that very hard to believe. How did you escape?" The mage takes a step back as my body floods with sensation and he rubs his hands clean on his robe. "I know that you used your teleportation and that would have only riled the boy up even more. You must have killed him."

"Ran," I grunt as I push myself into a more comfortable position. "He ran away… from me."

"Did you anger him? It would take very little to enrage an Alter, you know. They're very... excitable." Carrow moves to his table and pulls out a book before returning to me. "As a Specter, I am afraid that you have no ability to counteract what the boy can do. Your skills are more evasive while his are rather direct and devastating." A page is shoved under my nose and I recognize the shoddy drawing of a circle with strange writing around it. "I meant to tell you this sooner, but I did not expect the boy to lose his temper quite so easily and so soon, too. My sincerest hope was that you would have been able to bond with him passively and therefore give me indirect control of him. Unfortunately that plan was not fruitful and it is nearly impossible for dear Mina to create a link with him, being an Eye and all."

All of these terms go over my head. I know what all of these words like "alter" and "specter" and "eye" mean, but he's using them out of context, like they're a state of being and not simply common nouns or verbs. And there he goes again with the bonding thing, but this time implying that I could bond with Michael. Or _would_. Never did I ever have any desire to drive a blade into the boy's chest and rip apart his soul with the intention of controlling him. With shaky hands, I take the drawing that the mage keeps impatiently waving in front of my face and examine it like I have the smallest chance of understanding what it all means.

"Alter?" I ask after staring at the picture for a moment.

He sighs, " _Yes_ , he is an Alter based on the location of his body on the circle. At first I mistook him for a Palm, but I suppose one of the boys embraced a demon before the ritual was complete and the resulting influx of magic skewed his surfacing. Oh, I so wanted a Palm!"

"Palm?"

"Read the text!"

I give him a flat look. "I can't."

The picture is promptly swiped from my hands and I'm actually pleased to feel the sharp sting of a cut left behind by the thin, crispy sheet. Any feeling is welcome after days of being an unfeeling statue. An iron tang fills my nostrils, mixing in with the odor of stale animal blood that already permeates the room. My senses are heightened, it seems, and Carrow squints his eyes at me for a moment before nodding to himself and tapping the drawing with a pale, calloused finger. He's pointing directly at the drawing of a misshapen cloud.

"You, my friend, are what the old Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium called a Specter. You are one of the Imperium's best kept secrets. During my travels in my youth, I often stumbled upon merchants selling old books. But I found one of many long lost texts deep in an ancient ruin that was simply crawling with pesky spiders and reanimated corpses. It was almost too much for me to handle, but I _knew_ that there had to be _something_ of great importance if all of the intricate traps were anything to go by." A large book, his favorite book, is placed on my lap and I revel in the feeling of pressure on my knees. "This is what I found. It took me quite a lot of time to translate it and even longer to comprehend what exactly was being said. I should've fully translated it before I summoned you and Mina, but I was quite desperate. I could not have imagined what wonders awaited me in those bindings of flesh."

I almost shove the book off of my lap when I hear this. No wonder the thing looks so odd with its flaky cover, strange coloring, and faint weird odor. To think that this used to be a part of someone? It makes my stomach gurgle and I'm not even a very squeamish person. Cold eyes watch me closely as I squirm to keep from flipping the book away and onto the mage who adores the disgusting text so much. But even just the thought of touching it makes my skin crawl.

"And what did the text say?" I ask after clearing my sore throat.

"Oh, it said _many_ things," he replies softly, almost sadly. "It first went on to say that the book itself was made from the skin of a foreign creature; summoned by the use of powerful blood magic. A demon, it said. So of course I was at first mistaken in believing that you and dear Mina were demons, which leads me to believe that the creatures summoned so long ago were in fact human as well." He then points to the sketch of a palm and says, "The mages thought they were summoning an Old God to beg a favor from, but the creature was said to appear to be a mortal- a female human- that possessed a unique ability to transform objects. She had no knowledge of our realm, or the realm of the Old Gods, and was used for the purpose of protecting the archon. Her handler, the archon's apprentice, was brutally murdered by her. She was the very first Summoned and she was a Palm; therefore it took quite a bit of group effort to slay her."

I wait for him to continue as I stare at the image of a palm. We aren't the firsts, then? There have been people before us who were torn from their worlds because some mages were hungry for power? Something prods at my brain and I can't help but question the random disappearances of people all around the world and wonder if they were simply murdered by wild animals like the news said or were the victims of deranged killers. What if they were transported here where they were then abused by mages for their newly acquired abilities?

"What happened then?"

The mage drags his eyes up from the picture to pierce into me. "This deterred others from ever summoning another creature from that realm since they feared they were all violent and uncontrollable. They banned the use of blood magic for such purposes and all of those involved in the ritual swore it to secrecy. But a more adventurous man by the name of Aurelius decided to further research the methods involved in this accidental summoning." A fingernail is slowly dragged along the spine of the book. "He wrote this text. He killed countless people to improve his research and wrote down his findings. Then he practiced on his fellow mages to see what results he'd garner. It was mostly trial and error on his part. The most success he received was when the essence of a previously summoned creature was used during a ritual. I only recently discovered that it is because the creature being summoned is of direct blood relation to a Summoned."

"Mina and Michael," I interrupt.

"Yes, that is correct." He nods sagely. "And I can only assume that the ritual with your essence did not work because you have no living relatives. Correct?"

I nod stiffly. "Correct."

"Such a waste," he sighs. "But, moving on… Aurelius also created the process of bonding. He realized that the only way to get such creatures to obey a simple mage would be to gain possession of their essence; the very thing that allows them to remain tethered to their original realm. Add in a bit of compulsion magic and any problems of rebellion are solved. That is, of course, unless you are dealing with an Alter." Carrow tiredly moves away to sit in his chair. "Alters have a very odd reaction to magic. Palms, Specters, and Eyes thrive off of magic and are drawn to it like moths to a flame while Alters... are perhaps too _eagerly_ drawn to it. They feel the insatiable desire to seek out the source and kill it. They cannot be bonded by use of magic and can only be controlled by the strong Palm or passively influenced by the elusive Specter. Eyes, on the other hand, cannot control an Alter despite their ability to manipulate others. This is because their ability relies solely on the psychic aspect of magic. This doesn't afford them any physical advantage that could save them from the grasp of an Alter."

"Save?" I ask, alarmed, "Why would they need to be saved? The Alter's power is just paralysis, right?"

"Wrong." The blond mage wags his finger like a disappointed teacher. "Paralysis is the first stage of defense; it is used to ensure that the prey won't use any physical magic to escape or do any harm. You use more mental means and can therefore escape by physical teleportation. Palms use strong physical magic that can keep a raging Alter at bay. Eyes, however, rely completely on the mental aspect of magic and have no physical defense which would then lead to the second stage for an Alter: attack."

Despite the soreness and stiffness of my muscles, I get to my feet and send the book crashing to the floor. Though they're related and Michael seems to adore his sister, I'm not certain of his mental stability. The way his eyes go black and how his skin goes gray, and that animalistic look he would occasionally get in his eye… I can't help but fear for Mina's safety. And she would embrace her brother without question if she saw him, throwing caution to the wind in the reckless way that only she knows how.

"Mina and I give off traces of magic when we use our powers?"

The mage glares up at me from where he'd scrambled to scoop up the book. "Of course! You are completely magical though you are limited to a single ability and cannot _learn_ magic. It's _my_ magic that allows you to have powers- _my_ link to the Fade- but my magic doesn't influence what you can or cannot do. For example, I cannot teleport whereas you can but Mina uses compulsion magic which I can use. Whenever you use your ability, it gives off just as much magic as it would if a mage used it." Carrow brushes imaginary dust off of the book as he stands. "And the fact that we are bonded just increases the amount of magic you release since I myself replenish your life force and allow you to stay in this realm. Unfortunately, the same cannot be done for Michael. It's why he possesses such a desperation to steal the magic from magical bodies. Without it, he would surely perish."

This is an information overload that almost sends me collapsing back onto the chair. Michael is a creature that "steals" magic and Mina and I give off magic, therefore he's bound to attack us at some point. This situation is completely screwed no matter how you look at it.

"I need to find Mina."

"No, what you _need_ to do is find Michael. We require his assistance to fell the Circle. His ability would serve us well but he'll do us no good if he gets himself killed with his recklessness."

"But he's going after Mina!" I cough as my voice gives out and wince.

Flames burn in the mage's eyes and his knuckles whiten as he grips the book tightly. "You fool! He mustn't see her! The girl is so terrible at controlling her ability that she will most certainly use it around him and find herself on the wrong end of a draining!"

I'm getting really tired fo Carrow talking to me like I was doing all of this botched research by his side. He's like one of those elitists in academia who use ten-dollar words and expect others to have the exact same knowledge as them. Irritated, I barely grind out, "Draining? What's _draining_?"

"I told you not to teleport around him, so you would't know what he is capable of." Carrow sighs as he begins to pace, looking keyed up. "He's an _Alter_ , possessing one of the most powerful abilities of the Summoned. His kind were used against rival mages, mostly to keep others away from Aurelius and his research. I mentioned that the Alters seek out magic and use their ability to paralyze their foes. After paralysis, however, comes the draining. They suck the life and magic out of living things and leave their victims as nothing but a husk; somewhat similar to the momentary progenies created by Eyes but more similar to Tranquil in that their emotionless and paralyzed state is rather permanent."

"Why didn't you _tell me_ this?" I growl. "You let me _leave_ with him!"

Blue eyes flash. "Because I knew you would not dare use your power around him and I expected that you would bond with him. I couldn't have imagined that you would allow him to simply _get away_ from you and let him run to Mina." The blond bastard spits, "You should have promptly slain him the moment you felt the slightest hint of insurgence! Mina's power is much easier to contain which makes her far more useful to us than him!"

"I would've known better if you had told me earlier!" I shout hoarsely, muscles twitching as I try to fight the urge to punch the mage. "Now we don't know where he is! It's been days! He could be anywhere!"

Carrow is obviously already tired of our shouting match and he shows this by sending me crashing into my chair, making it topple over with me on it. Muscles screaming out in pain, I grind my teeth and slowly get to my feet. He's pacing once more and I gasp for breath as I watch him. The air is thick with tension and the musk of blood and rot nearly makes me gag. Nerves still spasming, I push myself into a standing position and narrow my eyes. All of his pacing won't do us any good right now. He could make a rut in the floor with his pacing back and forth but that wouldn't get us any closer to finding Michael or warning Mina. 

"Find Michael," Carrow commands, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Your senses are already heightened from your exposure to his power. You creatures should feel like old friends to one another; it's the nature of the beast. The more you experience his ability, the stronger your bond will grow and the more your own power will be refined. At the moment, the bond is nearly nonexistent." His mouth hardens into a thin line as he continues in a softer voice, "You are a dear friend and you are valuable to my cause. I will… leave you with the decision to either strengthen the bond and risk death or kill the boy and bring Mina home."

Right. Because putting it that way makes things _so_ much easier.


	26. Gold Blessed

**18\. Gold Blessed**

I like money. Who doesn’t? And to make money I have to work. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about it. _Normally_. But with Hawke? This mage is trying to kill me. Why else would he pull me along for _several_ jobs varying from the lamest thing like returning a lost bottle of wine, to something as emotionally taxing and heart racing as saving the Viscount's whiny son from money-grubbing bounty hunters? Maybe he's trying to figure me out or wear me down by not letting me sleep for days on end?

That’s a form of torture, you know. I’ve heard it’s pretty effective as people are more truthful when they’re tired. But I'm nowhere near baring my soul to Hawke. I’m actually close to tearing out my already shaggy hair and throwing myself into the sea just for some form of rest, even if that means taking the "eternal slumber." What makes things worse is that even though the group Hawke totes around is always changing, the two of us are the only constants. And it's awkward as hell. But I guess I sort of opened myself up to this.

Ever since I let it slip that I would potentially kill Templars for Hawke in order to help protect him and his family (as well as the other mages like Merrill and Anders who associate with him by extension, since they would be in hot water too), he's been testing me. Of course he hasn’t said this explicitly, but if this isn’t a test then what is it? He's even gone so far as to put me on the spot by asking me "What should we do?" or "What do you think about that?" in compromising situations- actual life or death scenarios! And, to be honest, I’m like the most indecisive person I know so I always come out of those situations looking like an asshole.

I actually responded to one of his questions with, “Uh, I dunno? We can try not to die, maybe? If you’re cool with that, boss.” It all makes me want to yell at him that _he's_ the leader and I'm simply the hired muscle and he should get his act together to make the hard calls for himself like a big boy. Of course, as per freakin’ usual, I don't have the gall to say that to the mage's pretty face and surely he would run me out of town if I dared sass him. But… it wouldn't be so bad to have to leave this city anyway, if I was foolish enough to kill a bucket-head or mouth off to Hawke more than I already do.

Let’s be real for a moment: I've overstayed my damn welcome here in Kirkwall. Also, I don't think Kiriyama is ever coming back. There's no real reason to stay, what with Bartlett being dead and Isabela having her own people to hang around and all of her secretive things to do. Whenever I'm home, I'm home by myself. This house feels more and more like a tomb the longer I stay and not even the salty smuggler's random appearances can liven up the place. Neither can the occasional visits I get from a bubbly Merrill and nosy Varric.

Besides, staying here for so long is actually really stupid for someone who is supposed to be on the lam. Isn't Carrow still after me? I’ve heard nothing but crickets on that front and it makes me nervous. It's enough to make me drink myself into a coma. The paranoid desire to flee the city grows daily, especially when I consider that I don't have many things to call my own here, so leaving would be a breeze; no annoying boxes to label and lug around or little knickknacks to scrounge up. But I don't think Hawke will let me go so easily since I've become his go-to guard. Anders would probably get irritated if his spy left, too.

And on the subject of Anders, the pretty apostate has actually forgiven me for so furiously opposing his views… more or less. He tends to give me these long-winded speeches whenever he sees an opening and they just make me want to beat him with a stick despite the fact that he knows probably too much about me and I should maybe try to stay in his good graces. Especially since my paranoid self has the feeling he's not done calling in favors for keeping my secret and being my "ally." He was all too eager to offer protection…

I honestly prefer the company of the broody, silent Fenris even though the elf doesn't laugh at my jokes like Anders does and gives me these withering glares when I try ribbing him. Fenris tolerates Hawke as a mage and respects him as a man, but he has absolutely no patience with Anders when the apostate gets preachy. We have that much in common, at least, and actually have had little chats on the best ways to get Anders to shut his face hole (a term I like to use a lot because it makes Fenris chuckle). But I wouldn't call Fenris a friend. He's more of an associate. What friends I do have, however, I don't think I could just _leave_.

_Here we go again with talking yourself out of smart decisions._

Well, I mean-! I like a lot of people here and most of them depend on me. And despite finding Hawke overbearing and pompous, I do genuinely _like_ the guy. He's honestly the best boss I've ever had! He hasn't tried to cop a feel, hasn't deliberately put me in harm's way or abused his position as my superior in any way. So... I couldn't just leave Varric, Isabela, Merrill, _or_ Hawke when it comes down to it. Though I know my time here is limited with Carrow looming over, I've grown attached. It's a troubling predicament, to say the least.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Did I sit on your bloody keys again? I swear you're always losing them." My pirate comrade complains as she counts coins at my table, growing uncomfortable under my heated gaze. I hadn’t even realized I’d zoned out and started staring at her. Whoops.

"It's just the one key," I mumble before adjusting myself into a more comfortable, sprawled out position on my bed. "Ugh. I'm so tired I can't even sleep!"

"That's your own fault, love. You don't have to accept _every_ job Hawke throws your way."

"Cap, do you know how much money I have? Take a guess. Got your guess ready? Here's the correct answer: None! Those rat bastards Bartlett owed money to keep coming around 'cause they still expect to get paid and I personally like my kneecaps. I'm almost done with them, so I still need jobs and Hawke's supplying 'em."

Brown eyes flicker over toward me. "But you're working yourself into your own grave! You don't even come home most days."

That's true. Sometimes, I end up passed out in Varric's rented room as Hawke goes over the agenda for the day and that's about as close as I get to actual sleep. With the mage's deep, droning voice I often find myself lulled into the comforting embrace of sleep. Even then I'm usually woken up by Varric putting coins on my eyes and when I try to return them to him he always waves me off and says "Ah, just keep them." I haven't slept in my own bed in _days_ and the only time I come home is so I can replenish my supplies and change out of my gross, sweaty clothes.

The only good thing is that Hawke always remembers to feed me because I guess he doubts I even feed myself. For a golem, he's surprisingly caring of his workers. Sharp pain spears through my nerves and my muscles almost seize. Biting back a hiss of pain, I rub at my aching limbs and can't help but curse Hawke for making me run all around the city just to return a damn shawl to a prostitute. The only highlight was the disgruntled look he had on his face when I pointed out that we actually had to _enter_ the establishment. But then he gave me an appraising look, nodded to himself about something, and told me to come along as he determinedly entered The Rose with its Templar clientele. He and Carver got a bit of a shock when they spotted their Uncle Gamlen at the bar.

I groan and slap my arm over my eyes. "How does that damn mage do it?"

"Pigheaded determination, I suppose. He's saving up for an expedition into the Deep Roads. Or so I heard from Varric." The rogue shrugs as she inspects a sovereign critically before tossing it into a pile. "He'll get a lot of coin for that expedition if it pays off like Varric says it will."

Smiling stupidly to myself, I say, "Deep Roads? As opposed to the Shallow Roads?"

Brown eyes look at me pityingly as the smuggler shakes her head. "Oh, no. That wasn't even _remotely_ funny. All that work is ruining your sense of humor, kitten."

"Screw you."

"If you insist."

"And I don't."

"Suit yourself," is her airy reply before she gives me a contemplative look. "Anyway, I'm not surprised that you've never heard of the Deep Roads considering you hardly know anything about _anything_. It's a bit sad, really, and very odd."

"I led a sheltered life." I joke, "My mother didn't like exposing me to the evils of the world."

_More like my grandparents since they're the ones who raised me._

"And then you were killed and resurrected by a blood mage," Isabela states flatly.

"Yup." I reply lightly even though her sharp words nearly cut my ears. "Mama didn't anticipate _that_ one."

The pirate suddenly looks like the cat who ate the canary as she muses, "So, since you lived under a rock your _entire_ life… does that mean...?"

"Mean?" I quirk a brow and sit up on my elbows to get a better look at her.

"You're…?"

"I'm?"

She drawls with a twisted grin, " _Virginal_?"

_Oh._

Flopping back down, I stare up at the darkened ceiling. The fireplace needs more wood since the fire is dying out already. Shadows dance across the painted cityscape, imitating life, and I notice that one of the buildings painted on the walls happens to be this very house. It's strange how much stuff you can overlook when you're so busy being busy. A soft tinkling noise draws my attention back onto an antsy Isabela as she continues to sort through the coins she snatched off of The Rose's patrons on our last job. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she looks nervous. That might be true, though. She probably doesn't know if this conversation is crossing any lines for me.

Though we joke a lot and dare each other to do absurdly stupid things, we've never had any heart-to-heart talks or anything even remotely close to that. Because of my reluctance to go into great detail about my time as a blood mage's prisoner, I'm sure Isabela's creative mind has come up with all sorts of grisly scenarios and I think one of those might be directly related to what she's trying to squeeze out of me right now. I'm not naïve, well, I'm not _very_ naïve and neither is Isabela. It's common for hostages to be abused, tortured, or raped (or all of the above, really). Carrow is a sick bastard but he isn't sick enough to rape a person. I think.

Eyes locking onto the pirate, I raise my eyebrows. "Huh. That's where you were going with that? I wasn't expecting you to mince words with my purity being the subject. I thought you'd be a bit more, I dunno, _brash_ since you never brought it up before and you're always trying to get into someone's pants if not mine."

"Stop being so wordy!" She sighs, "Are you or aren't you? I'm very curious! Whenever we go out, you never take a man home or even a woman for that matter! All you do is flirt and tease."

"When it comes to full-blown sexual acts that aren't of the oral persuasion, I am as _pure_ as the first snow on a cold day. Just as frigid, too," I joke wryly. “But I certainly wouldn’t call myself a virgin, dearie.”

"Seriously?" Is laughs like this is the funniest thing she's ever heard in her entire life, "I mean… _Really_?"

Well, yeah. Really. My Catholic upbringing wasn't nearly enough to dissuade me from exploring my sexual appetite as a teenager. Especially when I found out one can masturbate and _not_ get struck by lightning. And when I got older, I began to resent the double-standard regarding sex more and more. Where I had once bought into the lie about virginity being the most precious thing in the world for a girl to have and maintain in order to be "accepted," I soon realized that it was utter horse shit because the guys around me in college were getting high-fives for screwing a different girl every weekend. Not to say I went crazy having orgies or anything in college after that revelation.

While I'll readily admit that I'm a massive fool in most areas of my life, when it comes to picking sexual partners I'm _very_ selective. I'm rigid about two things in my life that concern my health: sex and drugs. Though I've recently developed a problematic habit of using alcohol to cope, I'm boringly straight-laced otherwise. Although religion didn't beat "drugs are bad" into my head, all the people dropping like flies around me in high school did. At graduation, I believe we had a moment of silence for fifteen classmates who either overdosed or died in a car crash because they were high or drunk.

And with sex? I didn't want to end up pregnant and resentful at a young age like my mom. Though she did fulfill her dream of becoming an artist, she never went to college like she wanted to (and boy, did I have to hear about _that_ one every time we argued). But sex _here_? Since I haven't had my period in ages, I don't think pregnancy is a concern for me. At least, it shouldn't be. Ya know, being the living dead and all. However, I don't think I'm immune to STDs or STIs if I still get a sniffle or a fever every now and then. Undead body with a "living" immune system. Not fair.

Throughout these thoughts, Isabela is still laughing like a hyena. I don't know if I should laugh along with her or be offended. I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay. Jesus. Enough with the crazed laughter or you'll wake the dead!"

"Why haven't you?"

I blink at her blunt question. "Why haven't I bedded anyone or why haven't I ever tried to tame a dragon into being a house pet? Personally, I think it would be really awesome to have a dragon as a pet, but after my last encounter with one I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep well at night knowing that there's something curled up at my feet that could turn me into a roast."

" _What_?"

To emphasize my point, I lift my shirt a bit to show my still flaking skin. "Sure, it would be useful whenever I need to light a candle or for home security or just to get around this damn city, but dragons are _big_ which means they leave big poo. And I am not picking up a turd that's bigger than me."

"Fine, I take it back! Your sense of humor hasn't been ruined." Isabela sighs exasperatedly but with a bit of a grin, "Now, answer my question."

I give her a pleased smirk. "I was given a few opportunities- many from you- but I had and still have more important things to think about."

The pirate looks at me like I just sprouted dragon wings. "More important than sex? Are you mad?"

"I guess I am. Believe it or not, but I used to be very devoted to my profession as an entertainer. Despite my lack of concentration, I really focused on my musical and performing abilities." I shrug, trying to appear aloof. "And now there are a few things that have recently developed in my life that have made being in a relationship a lot more complicated- like being dead. I don't have the time for more trivialities." It’s not an entire lie. I'm afraid of rejection now because surely being in a relationship with somebody entails that I have to tell them everything about who I _really_ am.

"But it's not always about being in a relationship." Isabela argues. "It could just be sex. Plain, dirty, sweaty, even _kinky_ sex."

_Ah, that's right. Fair point._

I puff out my cheeks and stare at the ceiling. "That's very true. But I'm a very jealous person. Oh, and I'm _incredibly_ vindictive. Those are two horrible traits when it comes to looking for a quick lay. And I'm not about quickies anymore at this point in my life. Stability has seemed more and more attractive to me after I died."

Lithe fingers tap the grainy wood of the table. "Hm. Well, that actually explains a lot about you. Sort of."

“What? That I’m boring as hell?” I laugh. Pursing my lips, I begin to tug off my boots and unlace my breeches. " _Not_ that I'm saying I'd ever be above a little tryst or two if I happened to have some free time and if I wasn't so tired that I felt like my eyes would literally pop right out of my skull. I'm just putting that out there."

"You see?" Is laughs, seeming grateful that I brought levity back to the conversation. "You are _such_ a tease."

"Yeah, I guess I am." I grunt as I kick off my boots and tug off my shirt. "I love having fun but I can be very serious when I want to be. Not when I _need_ to be, mind, just when I _want_ to be." I throw her a wolfish grin.

"So, if you love having fun, how come you've never knocked boots with anyone? Aside from that piss poor excuse about 'relationships,' I mean." Isabela watches me like a hawk, eyes not once leaving my face.

Now a blush slightly burns my cheeks. "Here? In Kirkwall?” When she nods, I rub the back of my neck nervously. “Well, I’m always working."

And the most current propositions I've received have come from the likes of Isabela, Duchess, many smarmy employers, and even Douglas. And none of those (aside from Isabela, but I don’t want to ruin a good thing) have been even remotely tempting. Although lust is a powerful thing, I can _still_ keep my head on straight enough to assess situations. If, based on appearances, rumors, or basic knowledge about the person, I get the feel that they aren't 100% on the up and up in their nether regions, I ain't touchin' that. The people I mentioned failed all of the above. And I definitely don't want to end up sitting in Anders' clinic for something not battle related.

_I'd have to let him treat me_ and _lecture me some more about mage rights!_

“Well, then, what do you do for _stress relief_?” Is drawls.

Shoulders shrug automatically. “Sing? I used to love singing.”

Truth be told, that was a stupid answer. I haven’t done much singing since… Well… Since Kiriyama left, I guess. I used to sing for Bartlett on occasion when I was in the mood to (which was super rare). He said he enjoyed it, would smile like a little child, eyes sparkling. He'd clap, say " _Bravo!_ " in that ridiculous voice of his and ask for an encore which I’d happily oblige. And I used to sing for my brother, Michael, when he'd get sick. I'd strum him a tune on my guitar and he'd close his eyes like he did when he was a baby...

"Hm," Isabela hums, chin cradled in her palm, "then how come you don't ever sing for me?"

_Because I can’t enjoy it anymore. All of the memories attached to it are-_

"Hawke needs to see me in a few hours," I yawn exaggeratedly as I go fetal on the bed and none too subtly put an end to our conversation. "I'm going to try to get some sleep before he comes banging on the door like a demon is chasing him."

A huff of air escapes Isabela, "All right, fine."

* * *

"Hey, Lucky… Wake up!"

The deep voice assaulting my eardrums and disturbing my dreams of a life long gone is accompanied by something warm poking my cheek. Batting whatever it is away, I flop onto my other side and sigh. I'm nestled into a nice, warm cocoon of wool. My blankets are swiped from me and the pocket of heat I had created for myself is destroyed. Now I'm up and glaring at absolutely nothing since my eyes have yet to focus. When they finally do, I realize that I'm glaring at the wall and appropriately drop my gaze to mentally stab daggers into Varric's forehead. I'm trying to make his head explode, but my skill level isn't that high yet.

"Don't kill the messenger," Varric chuckles as he raises his hands in surrender. "Hawke is waiting outside with Broody. You should thank me, since it was yours truly who kept our noble leader from coming in here and waking you up himself. I think he mentioned something about an ice spell."

"Thank you," I grunt none too appreciatively as I throw my legs over the side of the bed and nearly knock the dwarf over.

"I'll leave you to change and get ready." The dapper rogue smirks as he averts his eyes from my lack of clothes and shakes his head.

I point to the door. "Out."

"On my way."

Let me start by saying that I'm hardly a morning person. On a normal day, I mostly stumble through the morning in a zombified state; mindlessly throwing on clothes and shoving food into my mouth before I finally drag myself out of the house. Being transported to another realm didn't change any of that. Well, it actually changed a few things. I now have the added bonuses of having to shimmy my way into chainmail, a lack of anything edible to shove into my face, and having to make an effort not to accidentally stab myself with one of my many blades. Oh, and I have to mentally prepare myself to come home maimed or scarred. Or dead. That's always a potential outcome.

When I finally throw myself through the front door, I have to keep myself from screaming a bunch of obscenities when I realize that the sun isn't even up yet. I usually depend on candlelight to get ready, so I didn't notice anything odd like, oh say, a lack of light when I was struggling to simultaneously lace up my pants and tug on a shirt. Maybe an hour has passed since I first curled up into bed. Isabela's absence in the house tricked me into believing that much more time had gone by, but it isn't unusual for the pirate to be out and about at all hours. I swear she must be an insomniac or a damn vampire or something.

"Mina."

Eyes snapping up to the cursed mage, I smile tightly. "Hawke."

"Good morning," he says in an annoyingly soothing voice that makes my eyelids droop. "Today we're going to the Chantry. Do you remember those thugs we killed on the Wounded Coast?" I nod mutely and he continues, "Well, we are going to collect our reward and then I have something important to ask you."

_Ruh-roh!_

Anything important that Hawke has to ask me can't be anything good. We've only ever had a handful of serious conversations and all of those ended with me either snapping at him, him flushing and scolding me when I shamelessly flirt with him just to garner such a reaction, or with me having my pride smashed into a million pieces before being set on fire. Mind you, our arguments as of late have been mostly one-sided since Hawke has decided to relent with his chastisements, but I still say I'm in the right.

_I sound like an asshole. Oh, well, I_ am _._

Though I don't want to, I dip my head into a nod and the mage turns on his heel and heads off to Hightown. Varric and Fenris follow suit and I bring up the rear. As usual. It's kind of fitting since it's like I'm the butt of some cosmic joke and I'm the only one who isn't laughing. Feet dragging a mile behind my body, I follow the motley crew down the poorly cobbled streets. My boots catch the rounded edges of rough stone more than once but I don't even make a sound to express my displeasure. I simply exist as I shadow them, not even partaking in Varric's pleasant banter.

Green eyes dart toward me a few times and I realize that I must really be out of character today if _Fenris_ has taken notice of my dour mood. Said elf asks, "Were you able to rest?"

I have to do a double take when I realize Fenris is walking next to me. When the hell did that happen? Trying not to seem so surprised, I throw him a strained smile. "I slept well." I drawl, "And you, Fenris?"

"Are you certain?" Fenris asks in that rumbling voice of his. "You seem very tired. Your eyes have dark circles and you look quite ill."

I'm not in the mood to act like I'm the happiest person on the planet or that I'm not wishing I was still in my bed to recuperate from days with no sleep (and to exist again in a world where I'm whole and still have my family). I mean, how am I supposed to behave when I just had the one hour of sleep I've got in ages snatched away? I roll my eyes at the elf. "Nah, I usually look like this."

Emerald eyes blink. "Um…"

"Yeah." I insist with a deceptively energetic nod. "I'm actually dead, so I have to go and bathe in the blood of virgins so I can get that _glowing_ look. Unfortunately, Kirkwall is in short supply of pure beings."

_Gosh, Mina. Can't you stop screwing with people?_

No. Really. I love making people fidget and squirm. Why? I don't really know the answer to that myself. I just like seeing people's reactions to some of the weird shit I spew out at random. When I was a little kid, I told a teacher that I liked cutting apart small animals and putting all the different parts together to make new animals just to see what she would say. Funny, right? Hell no. That little joke got me months of counseling with the school "psychiatrist" who just told me to talk about my feelings as he shoved pretzel sticks into his face while I droned on and on about nothing in particular. I started chanting the word "worms" halfway through one of our sessions to see if he was paying attention. He wasn't.

The elf doesn't respond as he steps up his pace to leave me behind. I trudge after the trio and barely register that the dilapidated buildings have transformed into stately mansions and well-kept vending stalls. Despite how much cleaner Hightown is than Darktown and Lowtown, the crime is higher than the two combined. Thugs may be thugs but they're pretty damn smart. Why rob the poor of their dirty shoes and copper pieces when you can get jewelry and sovereigns off of the rich? Not that I've ever robbed anyone before. How would I even do it? Ask them to please relinquish all of their possessions and when they refuse, I apologize and walk away?

A shadow drifts over toward me. "I'm sure a pretty lady like you would love to have an estate here in Hightown."

"It never crossed my mind, Shortcake." I lie through my teeth, glancing down at the dapper dwarf. "I prefer to live on the edge. Nothing thrills me more than wondering if I’ll get shanked on my way to buy a loaf of bread."

Varric chuckles in response, probably the only person other than Isabela who truly appreciates my dark humor. "You know, my brother has a place around here." The dwarf says, gesturing around us.

"Your _brother_?" I guffaw.

_Does he look like Varric but with a beard? Ha!_

"Bartrand. I thought I told you about him before?"

I give him an indulgent grin. "Must've been some other gorgeous green-haired girl."

"Must have been. But that would be impossible since you're the only one I know." He winks. "But in all seriousness, he has a place just over there." A finely gloved finger points in a direction I don't pay much attention to but I give him a curious look anyway. "I don't see the point of living over here when I do all of my business in Lowtown," Varric answers my silent question.

"Ah." I hum. "Interesting."

"You're not interested in the slightest," the rogue deadpans.

"That's… true. Sorry."

Warm brown eyes appraise me. "What's wrong, Lucky? Tired?"

"Yup." I sigh as I rub my hand over my face, "I could just drop dead right now."

"Aw, don't do that. Then Hawke will be disappointed and I'll have to spend all my gold trying to cheer him up."

"Hardy-har. It would be his own damn fault, you know."

"Or both of yours." He shrugs. "You didn't have to say yes to _every_ job. You need to learn to say no to him at some point. He isn't a child, I'm sure he'll survive if you decline a job or two."

"I _can_ say no to him. I just owe some people a bit of money, is all." I shrug as I pull on my cowl.

Blond eyebrows shoot up. "Didn't take you for a gambler. I can honestly say that I'm surprised."

"No, I'm not. I inherited a debt."

"Ouch. Usually people inherit nice robes or a goat."

I snort, "Yeah, well, I'd actually prefer debt over a goat. Those damn things eat everything."

He grins. "Much like debt."

Our conversation is cut short when I walk right into Fenris' back. It figures that I would run into the one man I know who wears quite possibly the pointiest armor I've ever seen. And those gauntlets? What the hell? It must be murder if he has to pick his nose or even rub his eyes! I swear my eyebrow is nicked as I step away and murmur an apology under a gaze of green flames. A sharp pinch between my eyes and at the corner of my brow draws my fingers to inspect the damage, but thankfully there's no blood. The only known damage is done to my pride, as usual.

"Why did you stop?" I ask curiously as I continue to rub at my brow.

"We've arrived at the Chantry." The swordsman explains, "Hawke asked me to wait on you since you were falling behind."

"What?" I groan, far too tired for this crap. “That’s- God, that’s totally not even necessary. Please don’t add insult to injury.”

Fenris drags his gaze to the dwarf who only shrugs. "I'll leave you alone, then."

Face scrunched up, I watch the elf make his way to the Chantry. Pale blue light shines down on the bright stone steps, giving them an ethereal glow. It looks as though the elven warrior is walking right up to heaven but instead of an angel waiting up top, it's an annoying mage who looks down on us all with glowing eyes. A warm breeze catches Garrett Hawke's dark cloak, making him look as though he has inky black wings that spread out around his figure like he's about to take flight. Snapping out of my thoughts, I walk up to the first step and pause. All I do for a moment is stare. There are a lot of steps for someone as sore and tired as me.

"Ugh," I groan as I take the first step.

"I take it you aren't a fan of the Chantry?" Varric chuckles from beside me, "C'mon Lucky, have a bit of faith."

"My gosh. These steps alone are enough to test my faith!"

"Do you not like stairs, Mina?" Comes Fenris' voice from up ahead of us. "That's surprising, seeing as how I always spot you sneaking around the city from Hightown to Lowtown."

"Oh, Fenris," I tut as I try to concentrate on lifting one leg after another. "If I was sneaking, you never would've seen me."

_Yeah, that's a lie. I can't sneak worth a damn._

The toe of my boot catches on a step and I swear as I almost collapse to my knees. These are large steps built for people with legs longer than mine, or at least it seems like it. The only thing that brings me comfort is that Varric is on the same boat as me, but he retains that suave composure of his while I'm sure I'm sweating bullets and have a red face. Actually, I'm _positive_ that I look like a tomato because honey colored eyes glance over at me quickly, followed by low, rumbling laughter. Shooting the dwarf a sneer, I force myself to move faster and almost yell "Hallelujah!" when I make it to the top. I feel like I just ran a marathon, so I'm very proud of myself.

"You behave as though you've never been to the Viscount's Keep," Hawke scolds. "There are twice as many stairs there and you didn't make nearly as much of a fuss."

"Yeah? Well, I wasn't about to _keel over_ then," I rasp as I brace my hands on my knees.

Golden eyes watch me before flicking over to the fully composed men. "Everyone ready? Good, let's go."

"Hey!"

The only person who looks back at me is Varric and he only does so to give me an amused smirk. Those two stone golems that somehow pass for men don't even give me a passing glance as they enter the desolate Chantry. Right now I can understand why Hawke decided to come here so early since even the earliest riser hasn't approached the house of worship for the morning sermon yet. In fact, I don't think the sermon starts for another hour. But that doesn't matter to me. I don't care that the Chantry is vacant of worshipers. I'm just glad that there's no one here to see me have a heart attack on the Chantry's doorstep.

_Well, at least here it's pretty much a guarantee that I'll go directly to the Maker. Express mail!_

Lungs aching and bones practically groaning in pain, I suck in a deep breath and head into the Maker's House with as much dignity as I can muster. When I step inside, I would gasp if I wasn't already short of breath. I've never been in the Chantry before, if I'm being completely honest. Back home I wasn't ever a very religious person and was raised a holiday Catholic. None of the churches I've ever been to were as clean or as beautiful as this place, though. Never did I ever think I’d find myself in this place. Well, there was _one_ scenario. If I ever sank to armed robbery, that is.

The floors are polished religiously (no pun intended) and everything is just so _white_ with bronze embellishments. The walls, the floors, the ceilings are all so glaringly white that it makes me think a bleach bomb exploded in here. Intricate tapestries hang from some of the walls, bearing the Chantry's strange sunburst symbol and red candles illuminate the space with warm light. I find the group up a flight of stairs after gawking at a large statue of what is supposed to be the Maker wielding a sword and I was tempted to make a joke to one of the Sisters about him smiting people.

Hawke is talking to someone but Fenris is blocking the person from my view. Varric looks at me over his shoulder and beckons me forward. Just as I make it to Varric's side, a man in white armor thanks Hawke, hands him a pouch that makes the distinct tinkling sound of coin, and makes to walk away. The sound of a Scottish accent fills my ears and I watch as the stranger turns to me, my retinas practically sizzling as candlelight reflects back at me from his bone-white armor. A head of thick chestnut hair ducks down to greet me, complete with a dazzling smile which I hastily and awkwardly return.

Eyebrows popping up, I turn to Varric and find that he's trying his hardest not to laugh at me. "Who _was_ that?"

"He just told you," Varric snorts.

" _Yeah_. I kinda got distracted," I murmur.

"Prince Sebastian Vael," he responds in a posh accent complete with a flourish of his hand. "Well, ex-prince since he's now Brother Vael here at the Chantry. His family was murdered and he paid to have the murderers, well, murdered."

"Wow, a vengeful Brother? You can't make this stuff up," I chuckle but stop short when Hawke gives me a hard look.

Hawke digs a few coins out of the pouch and hands them to Fenris. "There's your cut. Thank you for your help on that job, Fenris."

The elf bows his head. "It was no trouble, Hawke. My blade is yours."

A soft smile tugs at the mage's mouth. "You’re free to go, Fenris. I won't take up any more of your time." With one last bow of his head, the elf stalks off. And then Hawke is boring holes into me. I almost want to yell at Fenris to come back.

Varric looks between me and Hawke. "Why don't we take this to my place? I'm sure you two don't want to discuss business in here."

* * *

_Can I just die again? Please?_

A big grin is plastered onto my face, hands balled-up on my lap, as I sit across from Hawke at a table pushed into a dark corner of The Hanged Man's main room. He had refused Varric's initial offer of using the dwarf's room to talk business, so the rogue simply nodded his head and left to catch up on his sleep, leaving me all alone with the dark-haired mage. Things quickly spiraled down into a bottomless pit of awkwardness once our social buffer left the room and I've been grinning like a lunatic and waiting for Hawke to sort out his thoughts ever since.

Judging by how long it's taking him to say something, his head must be as cluttered as mine. Or he's just as socially impaired as I thought. A barmaid had approached our table several times but Hawke didn't even turn his piercing gaze from me for a split second, much to my discomfort. It's sort of like he's in a trance, he's so deep in thought that he can't even be bothered to be civil to others. I took it upon myself to casually wave the barmaid off with a flirtatious wink just to be polite. This is about as unnerving as the first time Hawke had me over at The Man, if not more. At least then I could count on the others to take some of the heat off of me with their asinine comments, but here it's just me and Hawke and I'm afraid of saying something that might set him off.

Because I usually know _exactly_ what to say to set him off. It's my specialty. I wasn't kidding when I told him I was going to "flirt" with him and the mage is easily frazzled by sexual innuendo. Despite how easy it is to get under his skin, Garrett Hawke has to be one of the most intimidating people I've met to date, outranking my 3rd grade P.E. teacher who I still swear was some kind of troll that ate children and small animals. But Mr. Walters was "creepy" intimidating while Garrett is "powerful" intimidating. There's a very clear difference.

"I'm sure you've heard of the Deep Roads." Hawke's voice cuts through the rabble.

"Yes!" I jump and blurt out, relieved for this thing to finally start going somewhere. "Isabela told me that you're planning some sort of expedition."

"I am. At least, I plan on taking part in one." He nods slowly. "There is a world of opportunity for me on that trip and I'm grateful to Varric for giving me the chance to turn my family's life around. Carver is deeply invested in it as well, and he has been working hard to help me save up money to go."

"Oh? That's nice," I say lamely.

Golden eyes burn into me as the mage places his gloved hands onto the table. "The risk is as great as the reward on this endeavor, and I'm not entirely certain if the only threats down there are spiders or the occasional Darkspawn. No one truly knows what waits down in the cavernous depths that are the Deep Roads."

_"Cavernous depths that are the Deep Roads?" Slow your roll, Edgar Allen Poe._

"Okay, Hawke." I sigh as I rub at my sore cheeks, "Not to sound rude, but where are you going with this little campfire tale? You've been saving money so you can't pay me for that last job? Fine, that's all right. You need me to watch your dog while you're away? Okay, I think I can do that since he seems to like me if all of that face licking is a good indicator. What is it? Just spit it out so I can respond appropriately and then go conk out on my bed."

He takes a breath. "I want you to go with me on this trip. Varric is going and I've already asked Anders to come along as well since he's been in the Deep Roads before. But I need someone who is both skilled with a blade and committed to keeping the group safe."

_Wh-? Hell no!_

Does he honestly expect me to jump up and yell "Yes!" like I just won the lottery after that description? Sounds more to me like a suicide mission in a place that could likely cave in on us than some wondrous adventure for treasure and glory. And I'm all for money and fame don't get me wrong, but I don't do well in small, enclosed spaces. I tend to hyperventilate and scream at people to shut up and get me into an open space, so I doubt I'll be much help unless I can scare away Darkspawn and spiders with all my yelling. I don't want to humiliate myself in front of the infuriating mages and the dwarf who likes to rile me up.

"I-I… uh…" I fumble for a good excuse, "Well, you weren't really selling it to me, to be honest. I mean, you should've said that there are unicorns and rainbows and cute little kittens down there but instead you just described some place that's all doom and gloom and most likely promises an agonizingly painful death."

Garrett Hawke gives me his infamous disdainful look. "What was all that talk before about you being a grown woman who is fully capable of taking care of herself? Surely an underground passageway doesn't frighten _you_ , of all people?"

_That's a challenge. Don't take the bait!_

My upper lip twitches. "I'm not _afraid_ of a stupid tunnel, Hawke. It's just… sudden." I shrug and his eyes narrow.

"How is any of this sudden? I've been hinting at wanting to bring you along on this trip for ages. Why else would I bring you with me on so many quests?"

Wow. I feel stupid. Leave it to me to assume that someone's trying to murder me by exhaustion when really it's just some weird job interviewing method invented by Hawke. Ashamed, I fidget with my cowl to keep myself from having to look him in the eye. I have to give the mage props for buttering me up right there at the end of his proposition, though. He must know that I'm a total sucker for compliments. Gosh, I need to stop hanging out with him or he'll have me all figured out in no time at all. Not that I'm too hard to figure out, mind you. I'm about as hard to figure out as one of those foam pre-school floor puzzles.

Hawke clears his throat. "Well? Do you accept my offer or not?"

"This is dangerous, isn't it?" I bite my lip.

"I won't lie. It is."

"Which is why you want me to tag along instead of Carver, knowing full well that he wants to go so badly?"

Golden eyes darken. "Precisely."

Pukey will probably resent the hell out of me for taking his place. But really, is there any convincing Hawke to change his mind about not allowing his brother on this trip? Absolutely not! If I were Hawke and I knew exactly how dangerous this expedition was and Mike wanted to come along, I would not only tell him "No" but "Hell no!" I purse my lips, "Is it going to be a whole 'finders keepers' thing with the treasure, or are we going to split it up?"

"It will be split evenly amongst us all," Hawke assures me.

_Argh! The temptation!_

"All right. It's a deal." I grin snarkily. "I'll go and protect your delicate ass in the Deep Roads. Not that I'm thinking about your ass- though you _do_ have a very nice one."

"Can't you take anything seriously?" Hawke snaps but looks relieved.

Lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug, I retort, "We'll see in the Deep Roads."

"That's not exactly where I'd like to find out. A more ideal location would be one that lacks any hostile creatures."

"Tch. A place like that is nothing but a dream."

He smiles grimly, eyes glinting. "So it seems."

_Ah… this is getting a bit weird. Again._

"So, I'll be going now!" I chirp as I dust my hands off on my thighs and stand up. "Nice talk, Hawke. I'll see you…?"

"At the end of the week," he finishes for me. "Take some time off to rest. I'm afraid I've been working you too hard."

"Got that right," I grumble.

His eyes narrow. "Pardon?"

"I said I'm going home to sleep. I'll be seeing you, Hawke." I turn to go. "And thanks for the job."

"It's no trouble."

Making my way through a sea of tables and chairs, I hurry out of the musty tavern that already has patrons filtering in and out at this early hour. The sun is shining at full force, causing me to sneeze as soon as I open the door and I begin to maneuver through bustling bodies during the morning rush to get to the markets. I slap away hands that grab for flesh and coin, shooting off threats and curses and promises to cause bodily harm. I wish that I could bottle up the relief and happiness I feel when I make it to my home so I can save it for later when I'm feeling down. Shoving the key into the lock, I shoulder the door open and rip Slicer off of my back.

Right now, the feel of him against my shoulder blades is more of a burden than a comfort. My skin is still sloughing off from the burn which itches quite badly, so I'm quick to take off my cowl and shirt and pull off my chainmail. I throw on my lightest top and move to belly flop onto my bed when I see the shadow of someone sitting at the table. Silently cursing myself for not opening the shutters when I first opened the door, I backpedal and fumble for the latch, careful not to trip over my own feet. "Cap?" I ask hopefully as my finger catches the metal latch.

A deep voice replies, "Not even close."

Shivers run up and down my spine at the sound of that voice. The latch is all but forgotten as my hand falls to my side and my mouth dries. Ice replaces my blood for a split second before it boils over and my heart pounds so loudly that I can hear the blood rushing in my ears like a waterfall. For a second I think I might faint. But... that would be foolish. I've been turned into a statue, unable to open the window to let the light in, start the fireplace, swear profusely, or even yell at him to get the hell out of my house. I've even stopped breathing. The only thing I feel is crippling rage. He should leave. If he knows what's good for him, he'll leave. Or I will.

Yeah, yeah... I _should_ leave! But, unfortunately for me, my pride won't let me back down and neither will my curiosity. Steven Kiriyama is here. _Finally_ , he's here. After over a year, he's back and I want to know just where in the hell he was. What was so damn important that he left me high and dry in the dead of night? I thought he was dead! Sometimes, when I would feel particularly bitter and resentful, I hoped he was dead.

"It's good to see you," Kiriyama says as his shadowed figure stands.

I swallow hard against some colorful curses. "It's too dark in here to really see anything."

"I saw you when you came in, if only briefly."

"Steven Kiriyama… Where _were_ you?" I snap, too frustrated to drag out pleasantries when my curiosity is killing me and my anger is getting out of hand. Every time my temper flares, I feel like a child. But I think my anger is pretty freakin’ justified right now when I’m facing my moral polar opposite. Because we're clearly two completely different people. I, for one, would never, ever just abandon someone. My conscience wouldn't allow me to simply dust myself off and walk away; forgetting any and all commitments or promises that were ever made like everything was just meaningless. At least, I hope I couldn’t.

Kiriyama the Serpent clearly has no conscience- the fact that he murdered me in cold blood should have been a _big_ fluorescent friggin’ clue to me, but I stupidly and naively wanted to believe otherwise when he stepped up to the plate to try and help me survive in this world. If he did have a conscience, he would've said goodbye. Or at least he wouldn't be acting like everything is fine and dandy. Nothing is fine. I'll make him realize this. "Why are you here?" I ask gruffly when he doesn't answer my first question.

"I needed to see you." He pauses. "There's... been a development."

"Oh, yeah? A development? Did you realize that you're a complete asshole?" I sneer.

He sighs, a frown in his voice, "What's wrong with you?"

"Are you kidding me?" I bark out a laugh, "Really? _Really_? You have the gall to ask me what's wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with _you_?"

So, maybe I need to chill out and not rip his head off if I want answers. It's times like these where I wish I had the ideal personality that allows one to simply _grow up_. Sometimes I yearn to be mature and level-headed, because those two traits always seem to elude me no matter how hard I try to be that way. I would love to be able to blame my upbringing for my shortcomings. God, that'd be great. An easy out. But my grandparents were both hardworking, hard nosed individuals who were cool under stress (unless I was the cause of it, that is).

My dad wasn't around when I was growing up, so I don't know if I can blame my shitty personality on him since I hardly remember him. But my mom... Well, there are prospects _there_. Hot-headed with mood swings strong enough to cause whiplash, my mom was a total freakin' train wreck of a woman. She couldn't stand the sight of me and the feeling was mutual. I didn't like to see that I came from someone who liked to hit the bottle instead of facing reality. Guess I didn't like to see that that's the path I was setting myself up for, as well.

_Focus on the abandonment issues and_ not _the budding alcoholism._

With that self-diagnosis in mind, I cut Kiriyama off as he starts, "Mina, I'm sorr-"

"No. No, no, no.” I’m rambling on with that monosyllabic declaration. It’s mostly directed at myself, telling myself to shut it and not pop off. Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I just _breathe_. “Just,” I hold an index finger up, eyes shut and lips pursed, “don’t. Don’t try to hit me with any apologies or platitudes, Steven. We’re about a year beyond that. If you're going to talk, say something that's _worth listening to_."

He doesn't respond and I find that that makes me angrier than hearing his voice. The silence on his end is deafening. It actually causes me physical pain when he stops talking and as I wrench open the shutters, I whirl around to make sure that he's really here and that he isn't just a figment of my imagination. I can't say if I'd prefer one over the other. When the morning light illuminates his feminine features and reflects back at me from those golden flecks in his eyes, I lose my ability to think as I'm taken back to my death. Funny how that works.

My breath is short, chest rising and falling quickly like an alarmed animal as I stare, wild-eyed. His hair is longer, down to just a couple of inches above his elbows, but his face is cleanly shaven; like he's been living in the lap of luxury. That thought makes fire curl in my belly, but I shake it off. He looks so much younger without the facial hair, so much more innocent and incapable of killing someone. But I know better. Dammit, I know better than anyone.

"Your hair is long," I state stupidly and then yearn for death once more. Did I not literally just get done telling him to say something worthwhile? I couldn’t have said anything dumber.

Those hazel eyes soften. "Yours is shorter. It looks nice."

I turn away and open the other window before busying myself with tidying up the already clean room. My bed is made, _his_ bed is made, and the table is cleared of all but an arrangement of pretty flowers Merrill had brought over for me. I take the time to smell them and stroke the petals distractedly, all the while feeling Kiriyama's presence just behind me. I try to focus on the exact shade of green that the little buds are. I try to do anything and everything to keep my anger in check. "Well…?” I let that open-ended question hang.

He's so close that I feel him exhale. "To answer your question, I've been with Carrow this whole time. I needed to see him to put an end to all of this and learn about, well, everything. But things took a strange turn." Kiriyama pauses when he sees me stiffen at the name. Mercifully, he says nothing, and continues on like nothing happened. "I'll talk to you about that later, though. Where's Bartlett? The room upstairs is open. It's never open."

_Well, shit._


	27. Truth Ray

**19\. Truth Ray**

"So, that's it, then? He's dead." Kiriyama rotates his cup of tea on the table, the earthen cup making a faint scratching noise against the grain of the wood. Warm light flickers over his delicate features, making them look more defined and harsh.

He's matter of fact about this revelation, not upset or shocked. I didn't expect him to be, really. He never cared for Bart. Sometimes, I feel like he doesn't care about anything at all. That thought makes me uncomfortable. Then again, that discomfort could be from the fire that crackles in the fireplace. The house feels a little stuffy with the fire going and the fact that I had closed the shutters against the world for fear of prying eyes adds on to the suffocating atmosphere.

When I had calmed myself enough, I gathered water to make tea and set it to brew over the fire. I figured I might as well get comfortable with the idea of Steven Kiriyama dropping in out of the blue after ditching me a year ago like a forgotten Tamagatchi- dead in a pile of my own pixelated poop. Being upset, no matter how tempting, was bound to drive him away _again_ before I could get answers. And boy, how I want answers after the little menace said he had been with _Crazy Carrow_ this whole damn time.

"Yeah. I... had made an enemy," I admit stiffly. "The bastard killed Bartlett to get back at me."

"I'm sorry. I know you had a fondness for him." Kiriyama consoles me flatly, running a slender finger over the rim of his cup. His distaste for Bart wasn't lost on me. Oh, the many times we'd argue over him. Kiri had said on more than one occasion that we should just ditch the chubby man and find a new place to hide, but I had always fought him on it. To me, Bartlett was like a little kid- naïve and vulnerable, unable to care for himself. "What happened with this enemy of yours?"

I freeze at his perfectly reasonable question. Fingers dig into my thighs under the table, away from view. What do I say? No, seriously. What the _hell_ do I say? Do I tell him that he was right all along about me being a manipulator? That I'm warped and twisted, a horrific creature of nightmares that can worm her way into someone's mind and make them do the unthinkable? My fingers creak as I release my thighs from their death grip, a faint throb settling into my muscles. Shooting my hand forward, I take my cup and down the rest of my tea before saying, "I- He killed himself." Then, I internally cringe for an eternity at that slip up.

Hazel eyes burn into me. "He killed himself?"

Desperately, I avoid his gaze. "Yeah."

Now the serpent carefully grabs the kettle that sits between us and pours me more tea, effectively snapping me out of my frenzy. He does this all under my intense stare. When liquid shimmers an inch from the rim, those mossy eyes look up to turn me into stone. "Or did _you_ do it?"

I match his gaze. All is silent. The faint stirrings of guilt flutter in my gut. For what, though? Elin got what was coming to him, didn't he? It was self-defense coupled with swift justice for murdering Bartlett. But why does my conscience ache? I feel as though I wouldn't feel so guilty if I had killed Elin in combat rather than... whatever it was that I did. God, I've tried my hardest not to think about that day. Evaded Isabela at every turn when she'd try to bring it up. However, with Steven Kiriyama, I don't think hiding is an option.

My upper lip twitches. "Does the difference matter?"

"Dead is dead," the serpent man says, shoulders shrugging dispassionately but his eyes tell a different story. "Anyway, I told you earlier that I made a discovery. It's very important that I tell you everything now, while I can."

"Oh?" I ask, eager to change the subject. I lean forward, elbows on the table. "What is it?"

"I told you that I've been with Carrow but I didn't fully explain why." The slender man gets comfortable in his rickety wooden chair and I know this is going to be a long spiel. "To be blunt, I left to go and kill him. He confronted me when I found him and he said something that struck me as odd. I needed to figure out if he was lying or not, truly crazy or actually sane." Kiri sighs, "It's no secret that he really believed that we were demons-"

"Hold up." I hold my hand up for emphasis, ignoring Kiriyama's mildly annoyed expression. "Why are you using past tense?" Maybe I’m a little too hopeful about Carrow being dead despite Kiriyama already intimating that that’s not the case.

The brunet says frankly, "You let him see your memories." I feel my stomach sink when he says that, his lips pursed into a thin, hard line. "From there, he discerned that we were human... once. Your memories got him to jump-start his research since he realized he had been careless and overeager to summon us. He started reading more, learning more; refining and correcting. As it turns out, there's a name for us."

I reel back. "And... what are we, exactly?"

_So, we_ aren't _human?_

Kiriyama takes a sip of his tea and looks at me over the uneven rim. "Summoned."

"Summoned," I repeat flatly. His response is a bit anticlimactic and I find myself crossing my arms and huffing in disappointment. "Well, no freakin' duh, we _were_ summoned!"

"No." He shakes his head, looking irritated. Strands of straight black hair fall into his eyes and he brushes them away quickly like he's swatting away a gnat. "It's sort of like a species name. We were summoned using blood magic, yes, but we _are_ Summoned."

It feels like I stare at him for years, just drumming my fingers on the table, waiting for him to say "Psych!" or to start laughing. He doesn't. Summoned, he says, like that makes complete sense. Like it doesn't sound like absolute bogus. Well, I suppose it would make perfect sense to _him_ , considering he's been acting like Carrow's understudy for a year (And what the shit is _that_ about, anyway? Curiosity?). My fingertips are starting to go numb. I stop drumming them and simply grip my chair. Tongue darts out to wet my lips.

My throat feels dry as I state, "So, I take it you _aren't_ joking. Damn, someone was lacking in creativity when they pulled that name out of their ass."

Although his lips quirk, Steven responds flatly, "Sadly, this isn't a joke. Being with Carrow granted me the opportunity to read his notes and go over everything he's discovered up until now. But it was all broken up- like trying to read incomplete thoughts. He gave me this whole spiel before I left, though. As our summoner, Carrow has a certain influence over us," his brow pinches in frustration, " _we_ can't kill him. It's against our nature now. We could have if we had only acted earlier- but that would've meant killing him within the first couple of days of when he summoned us, just before he took our essences."

I had attempted to casually drink my tea to keep from being so antsy after hearing the world-shattering news that I'm no longer a human, but now I regret trying to put on that façade of coolness as I choke on the tea and sputter, "I-I'm sorry? Took our _what_?"

Kiri subtly wipes my spit from his cheek. "We were made from," he hesitates, a grimace on his lips, "other people. Their blood and flesh, in particular, so that we could be compatible with this place and live here. We were basically spirits. But there was always this one last bit of our world within us, an assurance that our summoner could, in a word, banish us back to where we came from if things took a bad turn. But that metaphorical 'panic button' kept us from being wholly under Carrow's influence. Carrow took that." Intense eyes bore into me and in their depths I see pain. Kiriyama smiles and it doesn't reach his eyes. "Surely you still remember? A ritual of obedience."

_If words could kill…_

My chest throbs, an unmistakable ache of agony and yearning all at once. Yeah, I still remember. How could I forget that mage crouched over me with his hand delved deep into my chest cavity, the stench of my own blood in the air? Slowly wiping the spit and tea from my mouth, I murmur, "Yeah."

He nods. "He took it and used it. Apparently, that little tether to our world makes it a hell of a lot easier to summon more people from where we came from."

If I had had tea in my mouth, I would've choked all over again. "Did he summon someone else?"

For a second, I see something akin to guilt flash across his face as Kiriyama replies at length, "Yes…"

"Who?"

"A boy. A dangerous boy."

"What makes him dangerous?" I query, brow furrowed. My back is slouched up against the back of my chair and my arms are crossed, but I'm as attentive as I've ever been. Sure, I may look like some delinquent punk in detention, but that's only because I'm trying not to seem like something else, namely a young adult who is losing her goddamn mind right now because she's just been told that she's a.) not human and b.) never going home again. I have to at least _look_ like I'm taking it all in stride. I'll have a mental breakdown when I'm _alone_ , thanks.

"The same thing that makes _us_ dangerous," Kiri says like it's obvious and I'm just a huge idiot. "We're instruments of destruction but we have a handler, so to speak. Specifically, you're called an Eye because you possess the power of compulsion and I'm a Spectre because I can teleport. The boy is wild, an Alter. He has a strange reaction to magic."

I feel like my head is spinning. Maybe that's because my life is circling the drain? An Eye, he says so casually. "We have a handler," he says like it's just another day in Thedas. It's hard to take any of this at face value since it's all so ridiculous. I should have him write this all down for me. I should’ve _been there_. With Carrow and Kiri, I mean. I should've been there to see for myself so that I would _know_. But Kiri left me behind and I... made sure I stayed left behind. I sure didn't make any attempt to go back to Ferelden.

_But wait. This kid has a vague “strange reaction” to magic?_

"What do you mean by a ‘strange’ reaction to magic?" I dare to ask, ‘cause it looks like Kiriyama was hoping I’d just overlook his little lapse in explanation. Tough freakin’ luck. He shouldn’t have sounded so damn foreboding if he wanted me to overlook it.

“Apparently, he needs magic to survive but, like us, can’t produce it on his own. So,” Kiriyama coughs uncomfortably, more of a weird way to clear his throat before finishing, “he steals mage souls.”

“Oh.” It’s said a little high, a little pitchy. I plaster on a lopsided smile, trying to bring a bit of levity into the conversation, ‘cause _what the hell_. "Well, I hope you and Carrow are keeping that boy on a tight leash."

"He escaped."

I think my brain short-circuits as I go all slack-jawed before narrowing my eyes and hissing, " _Are you shitting me_?"

Steven Kiriyama gives me a hard look for passing judgment on him so easily. "He may prefer to attack mages, but _we_ give off magic- that's just part of our existence here, Mina. He attacked and paralyzed me, but was merciful." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "So, trust me, I _tried_ to keep him on a tight leash. It wasn’t like I just shoved him out into the Frostback Mountains and told him to have at the mage population."

That's when I notice the tension in his body for the first time. It's not emotional discomfort that has him shifting around in his seat like a hyper kid in a classroom. No, it's physical discomfort. He confronted this mysterious, dangerous kid and he got hurt. This revelation makes my stomach twist sharply and my conscience berates me for being so judgmental and quick to play the blame game. For claiming to be Steven Kiriyama's friend (as weird as it is to call your killer a friend), I sure am a shitty one. I run my hand over my mouth and sigh, "Listen, I'm sorry if I seemed-"

A knock on the door interrupts me. It's a delicate but purposeful knock that instills the fear of God in me that my grandma made damn sure I had. That authoritarian air has me guessing that it's a Hawke. Gosh, out of all the people in this world, only the Hawkes can get me to stop acting like an imbecile for a minute. Well, maybe not Baby Hawke or Hawke Hawke. I'm actually just talking about Mama Hawke, when I think about it.

When I've pried my eyes from the door to look at Kiri, he looks none too pleased at the interruption. In fact, he's really giving off the nervous air of a fugitive. But who does he have to run from if he's bosom buddies with Carrow? And maybe I should go be a fortune teller or something to pay the bills, because when I've finally made it to the door and flung it open (after Kiri insisted in hushed tones that he didn't want to meet anyone and that he really ought to get going), lo and behold the noblewoman is there.

The change in lighting nearly makes me sneeze, trading warmth and subdued hues for glaring whites and blues. Leandra takes advantage of my momentary pause to go in for the kill. She greets me with a bright smile, "Wilhelmina, I brought you some salve for your burn. It occurred to me that you didn't have anything to treat your wound properly and Garrett told me that you had mentioned that you were running low."

_Did I?_

"Oh, thank you." I grin broadly and hastily take the glass container, not wanting Kiri to know that I've been wounded. Too late, though, 'cause he already heard Leandra. I can practically feel his eyes like lasers burning into my back, searching for any signs of damage.

"It was no trouble." Leandra's prim smile turns icy and I almost cringe. "Is this a friend of yours?"

Glancing back, I see Kiriyama watching the scene unfold with relatively mild interest. When he realizes that he's been addressed, he gives the noblewoman a tepid smile. Now, I really do cringe. Steven Kiriyama doesn't know who he's messing with. Though she may not wield a broom like my grandma, Leandra Hawke is a maternal force to be reckoned with. Oh, and she'll probably tell Hawke all about the fact that I have some random dude here in my house. Great.

But I don't want the intimidating woman chasing the snake away when I've just pumped some serious information out of him. Vaguely I wonder if I can get more information or if he's holding back for some reason. Or if he's lying. My BS-detector pinged a bit when he started talking about the boy. For whatever reason, he's anxious about the subject. I could see it in his eyes- how they got all tight and distant... Yeah, I _definitely_ can't let Leandra chase him away just yet.

"Yes, he's a friend!" I practically vomit the words in my haste and anxiety. "An _old_ friend! And, well, I'd like to invite you in for tea," her blue eyes burn into me and I continue in a hurry, "but I have some business to discuss with my friend. I apologize."

"Oh, it's not a bother. I'd hate to interrupt your business." Leandra Hawke bows her head gracefully. "Have a lovely day, dear."

"You, too!"

When I've finally closed the door, I feel like I've just finished being interrogated by the FBI. Leandra only asked _one_ question and I feel like I just went through the damn gauntlet about a million times! Kiri, for his part, looks somewhat amused. But that amusement vanishes when his hazel eyes fixate on the container of salve in my hand. As if it's just turned into a venomous snake, I chuck it onto my bed and cover it with my blanket. I clear my throat loudly and take my spot across from Steven, "What now? I figure you're here for some other reason than to tell me we're less than human _and_ permanently stuck in this hellhole?" I feel like I might throw up at those words.

Slender shoulders go up and down. "Just wanted to give you a heads up. I have to try and find the boy again, placate him, and bring him back to Carrow. Like it or not, Carrow is our only shot at keeping the boy from going on a killing spree." He stands.

_Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!_

I stand, too, hitting my thighs on the table in the process. "Shi- Wait! You can't just _leave_! Not yet!"

"Yes, I can." He frowns, watching me rub my poor, bruised thighs. "This is important."

My eyes dart around in a panic. So, he's just going to jilt me after single-handedly ripping my world apart? I need more answers. Yeah, he info-dumped pretty hard on me but he also left me with more questions. My lips start moving before anything comes out, "Just... Just _stay_ for the week. Please." I look away when I realize how intensely Kiriyama is watching me. "What I mean is... I'm leaving for an expedition within the week and it'd be nice to have a familiar face to see me off. I don't want to seem like the city reject when others have their families telling them bye."

It's silent for a moment before I hear: "Fine."

* * *

 

Sucking on my bottom lip, I watch the tightly bundled cocoon that rests on the bed across the room from me. We aren't human. He said it and I heard it. Kiriyama just swooped in after a whole year and confirmed my worst fears; that I'm not human, that I can't go home. For some reason, I want to laugh. The clay between my palms is ice-cold, the pale amber tea inside completely forgotten. I need to stop staring at Kiriyama. It's hardly productive.

Cold tea is swallowed quickly- it tastes more bitter than usual. I get up from the table as the coiled serpent breathes heavily. I feel better knowing that he's deep enough in his dreams that his dog ears won't hear me moving around.

Although I want to talk to him, to ask him more and more questions, the guy is so worn out from his travels that he fell asleep the moment he sat on his bed. I spare him one last, lingering glance before I start gathering some clothes from the armoire and my trunk. I head up the flight of stairs to Bartlett's studio and quietly shut the door behind me. The shutters are still open in this room, bathing everything in warm afternoon light and illuminating all of the murals. Afternoon, huh? That conversation felt like it lasted hours and hours.

As I walk around the room aimlessly, I find myself drifting back to the dense forest with the young man in it and the tattered, dirty tent. That image is so familiar. The man's eyes are dark, everything about him is dark. I sigh and look away. Just another thing for me to try to figure out when I have free time. It's a shame that the artist can't tell me what his "inspiration" was. Pulling off my clothes, I freeze when the expanse of flesh on my back erupts into itchiness and burning.

Ah, yes. Mama Hawke had perfect timing, didn't she? The container of salve downstairs calls my name and I dress in my usual attire before heading off with Slicer on my back. With the salve in my hand, I'm on a mission to find someone to put it on me. Why do I need someone to do it? Well, for starters, when I tried to do it myself it felt like my skin was about to crack like dried out pavement in the summer sun. Guess I should've been moisturizing? Secondly, I sort of don't trust myself to not start scratching it. Scratching my burn provides fleeting relief that's immediately followed by searing pain. However, I never learn.

"Mina? I thought you were supposed to be resting."

_Really? Practically the second I step outside for alone time?_

Well, there goes hoping for some time alone to mull over Kiriyama’s words. Looking over my shoulder, I smile amiably. "Good afternoon, Carver."

I'm kinda expecting the swordsman to rip me a new one since I'm replacing him on the Deep Roads expedition, but he doesn't seem like he's about to do anything of the sort. In fact, he glances at me curiously before gesturing toward the salve in my hand. "What's that? It looks familiar."

"Ah, this?" I lift the jar and wave my hand like I'm on an infomercial, "This, my dear boy, is a healing salve for burns. This wonderful salve was made by your sweet mother for yours truly. Apparently it's all the rage with little apostates, seeing as how she made it specifically for healing your brother when he was young and careless with fire."

He chuckles, blue eyes glittering with mirth, "Oh, I remember those days. Why do you need it? You aren't burned, are you?"

"Actually, I am. Horribly so. Disfiguringly so," I sigh dramatically before continuing down the street with him on my heels.

"Where? I don't see any burns."

"My backside." I shrug. "My _entire_ backside. Just call me the Dragon Whisperer. But keep in mind that I'll only be able to tell the dragon to burn the living shit out of you and maul you half to death. Oh, and I won't be able to tell it to stop, either."

From the corner of my eye I see him wince. "That bad? Where in the Void did you find a dragon anyway?"

"Sundermount."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense."

I snort, "That information would've been helpful before I went out looking for a rotted log. You'd think someone would have said, 'By the way, Mina, thar be dragons!' but no. Instead, I got a pleasant surprise and some wonderful little scars as a reminder."

I'm too busy looking at the young swordsman as I mouth off to notice the stairs we're coming up on. A strong hand steadies me and keeps me from taking a tumble and potentially cracking my neck as my foot steps on air. Heart leaps wildly at the thought of meeting a swift and pathetic end. Well, at least Carver saved me from even more crap on this already craptacular day.

Gripping the boy's hand with mine, I step away from the stairs and sigh shakily as I recompose myself. Or, at least I try to. Fire burns at my nose and eyes, tickling my throat as I try to clear it with a faint cough. Of all the times to get emotional, my brain chooses _now_? Blue eyes drag over me quickly, assessing me for damage, before pale lips pull into a frown. "What happened?" Carver asks grimly.

I grin widely. "I was too distracted by your _beautiful_ face and almost fell down some stairs. Thanks, by the way. I'm useless without a fully intact spinal column."

The younger Hawke sighs, "You know what I mean. I had a sister for most of my life so I can tell when a girl is about to cry."

Giving him a disdainful snort, I say, "Cry? Oh, I never _cry_. I wallow, sure, and brood. But I don't cry."

"Right and you don't respond sarcastically to every single thing either."

"Ouch."

"Just tell me what happened. I hear that helps." He shrugs, looking slightly uncomfortable.

I exhale loudly through my nose. "I'm just letting a friend sleep over at my place and... I'm a creature of habit," I fib and want to thrash myself for coming up with such a stupid lie. Now I have to really build it up so the younger Hawke can buy it. "I'm afraid that he’s going to ruin my whole routine. You know how it is. Like when you have a relative over. Cramped quarters make it even worse." I shrug, trying not to lament on the fact that I just made the lie sound even dumber.

Carver's eyes soften and that makes me feel worse for lying. "You're just like my brother. He likes keeping things in order and stresses out when anyone so much as moves a book."

"Yeah. Your brother seems pretty anal," I snark.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Wouldn't that make _you_ anal as well?"

"Touché."

Carver finally releases my shoulder and watches me brush myself off. "Who is the friend you're having over, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh." I cough nervously. "Just an old friend. I knew him before I came to Kirkwall."

Blue eyes narrow suspiciously. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry, but I have to cut this little chat short. I need to find someone to rub this thing all over me." I toss the salve between my hands distractedly when he gives me an odd look. "I think I'll go to The Blooming Rose! They do that sort of thing there, right?"

I'm met with a knowing look. "Yes. And then some."

"Ah." I nod my head and tap my chin. "I think I'll get some 'and then some' as well. It was nice seeing you, Carver. Tell your mother that I said 'thanks' again!"

Brooding in a hot tub of water should fix me up in a jiffy. Hopefully it will make my skin slough off and I won't have to keep putting the salve on for much longer to keep it from scarring. Maybe I can get Merrill or Isabela to put it on for me since they've both seen me naked? Straightening my cowl, I turn around and head towards Hightown. Carver calls out a half-hearted and semi-amused "bye" after me. He probably thinks I'm a total wreck and he isn't far from the truth.

The urge to find something to lift my spirits is one that I don't ignore and the options are seemingly endless. I could fall back on my usual picker upper, that being alcohol, or I could try something new to help my ego recover (and not ruin my health in the process). My boots scuff against the cobblestones as I meander around Hightown, all thoughts of submerging myself in water and melancholy forgotten.

A few stalls catch my attention and I decide to do some retail therapy by buying myself new supplies with the money I've gathered from Hawke's jobs. Because, you know, spending every penny to your name in one afternoon is always a brilliant plan. Then I go through buyer's remorse as I realize that I now only have a few silvers to get me through the week which will have to be spread thinly between food and Bartlett's fun friends.

After walking down probably every alleyway in Hightown and playing with a stray cat I found eating a half-rotted rat carcass, I finally get to The Blooming Rose. I admit that I don't have any intention of entering the establishment, especially not to squander what little coin I have on a bath and for a stranger to rub burn salve on my back, but it's closest to the most well-guarded exit back to the slums. Sure, I could probably kill some thugs and pilfer coins off their bodies, but I don't feel like having to get rid of the bodies because you can't just leave those things lying in the streets.

Just as I'm about to pass the brothel, I see Carver exit, looking frustrated. Though I'm a bit bothered with having to entertain someone twice in one day, I figure the least I can do is seem cheerful to my friend. Slapping on a grin, I approach him and he nearly jumps a foot in the air when I obnoxiously shout out a greeting. All thoughts of making a snarky joke at his expense vanish when he fixes me with a serious glare. Oh, boy. I sure love me some soul withering glares.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Carver demands.

I raise an eyebrow at this about-face from just a couple of hours earlier. "I beg your pardon?"

Looking away, he sighs and seems to swear to himself before returning his burning gaze to me, "For a second, I thought you were actually my friend."

I wince at that caustic remark. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ca-"

"Mina." The blue-eyed swordsman cuts me off, "Why did you take the job?"

_Oh... Oh! Shit!_

Cheeks color in shame as I try to seem oblivious. "What?"

"At the week's end, I was _supposed_ be going on a trip into the Deep Roads. But the funny thing is, I just heard from Isabela at The Rose that _you're_ going. Is that true or is Isabela just making things up again?"

I'm not too surprised that Isabela already heard the news but I _am_ surprised that that cursed mage didn't break the news to his brother. Carver has absolutely no idea that I'm taking his place on this trip. Well, he _had_ no idea. Now he does. Gosh, no wonder he wasn't all cold and distant when we saw each other earlier! And now I'm burdened with the task of telling him that, yes, gossipy Isabela was right and he's going to be stuck at home, twiddling his thumbs as I frolic through the Deep Roads and gain fame and fortune as part of his brother's crew.

Now Carver is going to hate me even more because not only am I his replacement, but he's finding out from _me_ that I was all gung-ho for the idea since Hawke 'asked' me, he didn't 'demand' that I go on this trip. _And_ that I knew I was replacing him. I knew without a single doubt in my little mind that I was replacing prideful Carver Hawke. Man, how can I spin this to where I come out looking like less of an ass? Who am I kidding? I've always been an ass. In fact, sometimes I pride myself on that fact.

Gulping down air, I try to steel my nerves before saying in the most aloof voice I can come up with, "Your brother invited me on the trip earlier in your stead. He said it was because he doesn't want to put you in any danger. I said yes."

"You… What?" His flat tone destroys what confidence I had built up.

"Ah… well, y'know… I was free and he was free so we just… met at The Man and..." A pathetic little chuckle falls from my lips as I look away.

"Mina." Carver says forcefully, "What did you say? What did my brother tell you?"

_Just do it quick like a band-aid!_

Wanting to get it over with, I blurt, "Carver, you aren't going into the Deep Roads. I am. I'm your replacement."

It takes a little while for him to understand what I'm saying, but I can tell immediately when it finally sinks in because I'm given the ugliest glare I've ever received in my entire life. By the time he turns that hellfire gaze to the ground, I'm feeling thoroughly scorned and I want nothing more than to just disappear. _Poof_! And I'm gone. But of course I'm not that lucky. I'm still standing here as he chews the inside of his cheek to keep himself from yelling at me, I'm still here as he clenches and unclenches his fists, and I just watch as he turns on his heel and enters The Rose, slamming the door behind himself.

* * *

 

"Where were you?"

"Holy shit!" I scream, smashing my back into the door as Kiriyama watches me.

Really? Man, I can't believe I forgot that Kiriyama was back. Guess my head was somewhere else. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it was somewhere else! I just flushed one of my friendships down the toilet and it only took a simple statement and a lot of selfishness to do so. Suppose I really had it coming, though. I knew the swordsman's amiability when he first saw me was too good to be true. Slicer digs into my spine, scorning me for being so careless with Carver's feelings, and my burn throbs in agreement.

I should've known better. That boy is as sensitive as me (actually, he's ten times more sensitive and volatile if I'm being completely honest) and I just kicked his feelings' teeth in by undermining his ability to protect the group on the expedition. With a guilty look, I gesture toward my new clothes and tell the serpent man that I went out shopping before kicking off my shoes and putting all my new stuff in their proper places. Hazel eyes watch me the entire time and I'm tempted to throw something at him or pull a funny face.

"What are you doing?" I ask irritably, heart still palpitating. God, at this rate I’ll be dead before the end of the year. Well, _dead_ dead. For realsies dead.

"I'm making dinner."

I cut my eyes toward him as I start polishing my new boots with a rag. "Really?"

"Yes." Kiri nods as he moves over toward a large pot that I've never seen before and stirs whatever it is in there with a wooden spoon. Sensing the silence, sensing that I’m probably going to launch off on a crusade about Summoned nonsense by how I tense up, Kiri suddenly says, "A man came by, claiming to know you. He said his name was Garrett Hawke. I recognized the name, so I invited him over for dinner as a way to thank him for giving you so many job opportunities. By the way, I made you a bath." Pink lips twitch. "You really need it."

"Gee, _thanks_ ," I simper in a deceptively sugary voice, struggling to keep from dunking his head in the boiling pot of stew. And don’t think I didn’t notice that that was a preemptive deflection. I’m starting to get the sneaking suspicion that Kiriyama either knows more than he’s letting on about this Summoned shitshow or he doesn’t know enough (after being Carrow’s understudy for damn near over a _year_ ) and is ashamed of that fact. It’s evident in the hard, uncomfortable set of his jaw.

In the alcove that has somehow passed for a bathroom for a year, I find new bars of soap and strange bottled elixirs. They all smell wonderful and I feel so pathetic that Kiriyama obviously has so much more money than me that he can go out and purchase these little luxuries without batting an eye. Well, if I had nobleman Carrow as a sugar daddy, I think I could buy all this stuff, too. The bath water is lukewarm and I don't take my time as I scrub quickly and furiously at my skin with a floral-scented bar.

Head dunked underwater, I mentally prepare myself for whatever new hell of a distraction this is that Kiriyama is trying to put me through since he decided a family dinner with Hawke was a great idea even after meeting a less than welcoming Leandra. Smelling better than I have in a long time, I shakily get out of the tub and put on the nice new robe that's folded next to the elixirs. Taking a breath, I slather the salve on my burns as best as I can and have to give myself a pep talk to keep from swearing profusely at the odd stinging sensation.

When I get out of the alcove, I go and sit on my bed to dry my hair with what I've deemed my towel but it's really just a rough square of fabric. I watch Kiriyama roll the sleeves of his tunic up in preparation for cutting some vegetables, exposing all of his tattoos. Dragons and demons and serpents crawl along his forearms, each one as brightly colored as the last.

I watch in complete amazement as the tattoos twitch and writhe as Kiriyama's muscles flex with each well executed slice of an onion and methodical stir of fragrant broth. It makes me wonder about who the man was before all of this. Where his head was when he got those hypnotizing drawings etched into his flesh. Tattoos are a big deal to get. And then I realize with a jolt that I actually don't really know anything about this man who I so freely call my friend.

Suddenly, the demons stop dancing and the serpents go still. The sound of onion crunching beneath a sharp blade ceases, leaving the room uncomfortably silent except for the pop and gurgle of boiling stew and the raucous laughter of passing men outside. Dragging my gaze from a magenta-eyed dragon with olive colored scales and pale blue horns, I see Kiriyama watching me.

My mouth goes dry as I realize I've been caught in the creepy act of staring. Caught without any viable excuse since it's obvious what I was doing. Aloofly, I look away and continue to dry my hair anyway. "Hey." I drawl, "Where'd you get all that ink? Must've cost you a small fortune." I pull out a mirror from my trunk and uncap the container of kohl Isabela got for me a while back just to have something to do.

"A friend did it." Kiri grunts as I see him look away. "He was practicing to become a tattoo artist, so I got it all for free."

"Practicing? Damn, you sure had a lot of faith in him, huh?" I shake my head. “The amount of botched tattoos I used to see on this one TV show scared me off of even going to a professional.”

"Yes. I did trust him."

It's silent as I apply the kohl around my eyes, trying hard to remain focused on my own reflection. My inner spy begs me to tilt the mirror _just so_ in order to continue watching the stoic, secretive man. Fingers whip through my dry hair as I fashion it into its usual messy bedhead look. With a sigh, I pop the lid back on the kohl and put everything away. Armoire thrown open, I paw through my clothes and settle on a blouse with some obscure pattern at the collar. I don't bother picking anything fancy since I'm honestly lacking any sort of formal clothing.

I've come a long way from home if leather pants, boots that I've crushed skulls with, and a blouse I haggled off of a shifty merchant are what I consider my "Sunday best." I pick up a scarf, grimace, and put it away after thinking better of it. Thankfully Kiri doesn't make any of his usual snarky comments about my obsession with my appearance and for that, I silently cheer. That is until I turn around after fixing the laces at the collar and see him frowning at me.

_Great. What now?_

"You really shouldn't hang out with so many mages." Kiri says reproachfully if a bit hesitantly, "It's unhealthy."

"Yeah." I blink slowly as I realize he's just as jaded as I am in this regard. Can’t say I blame him. He was tortured, too. "I know. But why did you invite Hawke, then?"

"I want to see what he's like," he replies shortly.

Glad I'm not the only one who gets a bit of a squirmy feeling when around mages. It's probably weird to say, but I like the "feel" of them; the energy that seems to permeate the air around them, but at the same time that weird feeling I get from them makes my skin crawl with goosebumps. It's a feeling I've tried my hardest to ignore. It's almost like the mages… Like they… Damn! It’s not huge secret that I'm apprehensive of mages. To believe that I used to be so forgiving, welcoming, warm. Now I kill for a living and suspect everyone else is ready to do the same to me. Especially mages.

_You've changed. You're not you._

Another pause and I look down at the dusty floor, trying and failing to smother my disgust. When I look back up, I see that he's still watching me. I frown. Might as well cover all my bases before Hawke gets here, huh, if he's as wary of mages as I am? Heaven knows how awkward that will be with a man who hardly talks and one who so freely gives his opinion, especially when not even prompted for it. Yeah, those two will get along like a severely injured seal flailing around in the ocean and a vicious shark. I just can't figure out who the shark is. Maybe Hawke? His eyes definitely seem unblinking.

Crossing my arms I say in a clipped tone, "Listen. I've made myself a nice little niche here, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to oust me as being a..." I pause, "an 'Eye.' If you do, I won't hesitate to throw you under the metaphorical bus. Understand? Because I'm sure that even though Hawke doesn't care for me much, he’ll believe my word over yours."

The people I work with actually _like_ me. Meaning that they have yet to try and bump me off or anything. I'm not given disgusted looks like I'm some lower life-form and my companions seem to genuinely appreciate my skill with a sword. Yes, I'm not exactly best buds with all of them but at least I'm on speaking terms with the people. Though Anders, Aveline, Fenris, and Garrett couldn't care less about what my favorite color is, they at least show concern when I'm injured. Well, they acknowledge it.

And I have a pretty solid friendship with Merrill and Varric. That successful friendship with Varric is mostly on account of Isabela's mouth, but all the friendly banter and nice chats to build upon said friendship was all me. I won't let Kiriyama shit on all of my hard work by exposing me even if I _was_ considering leaving it all behind not too long ago. If he does… I'll make him wish he never came back.

"Fine," Kiriyama replies shortly

Staring at the grainy wood of the table, I carefully sift through my thoughts. I have to find some way to approach him about getting more answers. But it’s so obvious that he’s already closed himself off. Why? Why would he do that? Why come all the way here just to tease me with a taste of knowledge before disappearing again? Does he want me to go with him? To go after him? To go back to Carrow for answers? I side-eye Kiriyama, watching as he stirs the pot. No… That doesn’t seem like the case.

While I'm in the Deep Roads, he'll probably be off dying somewhere at the hands of some strange kid that he stupidly helped Carrow summon. This is just another situation that's out of my control. I can't imprison Kiri to keep him safe and interrogate him; he'd just teleport away and never come back. Every time I've tried to use my “power” on him, he’s always fought back and shrugged off my influence. There's nothing I can do to make him talk, to stay, and I'm not sure how I should feel about that.

Just as I muster up the courage to just outright ask him more about, well, _anything_ , a knock on the door makes me jerk violently. Swearing angrily, I move to answer the door since Kiriyama seems to be frozen in place or he powered down or something. Garrett Freakin' Hawke is here with wonderful timing as always. Not too sure of what I was going to say, myself. But still, impeccable timing on the mage's part.

Behind me I hear Kiriyama scramble to dish out the stew as he sets the table and I purposely take my sweet time getting to the door to give him enough time. To drag it out further, I start a little game of Hot Lava as I jump on my bed and then to my trunk, ready to jump from furniture to furniture, only to realize a little too late that there isn't much furniture and the closest thing to me is Kiriyama's bed. Glancing back, I see that the serpent is still slithering around wildly so I brace myself and spring forward. Arms outstretched and body completely lengthened out like I just jumped from a cliff, I prepare to land on Kiriyama's perfectly made bed. A clicking noise draws my attention just as my body connects with the bed.

Do you ever look back on your mistakes? Like almost _the second_ after you make the mistake or even while you're in the middle of making the mistake? The bed is relatively soft when you just sleep on it, but when you jump on it that's a completely different story. It's like I just belly-flopped onto granite and the air whooshes out of my lungs with a painfully loud wheeze. Oddly enough, the bed is soft enough to where I still manage to bounce off the mattress and right onto the floor.

"Mina! What the hell are you doing?" Kiriyama yells in surprise from over by the table. The front door opens and Garrett Hawke steps inside just in time to see me sprawled out on the floor, flat on my back with my most severe pain-face as the words "Hot Lava?" leave my mouth.

* * *

 

_So much for not liking mages…_

Those two greeted each other like old college buddies with Kiriyama stepping over my crumpled form to welcome Hawke inside. The irritating mage had glanced down at me, the corners of his lips curved slightly, before shaking Kiriyama's hand and giving him a full-blown smile. Both men went over to the table as I stiffly rolled onto my side and shakily got to my knees, silently cursing them both for treating me like a toppled piece of furniture.

But my gosh if that wasn't humiliating! I guess it's better that they ignored me rather than make a big deal about me almost incapacitating myself during what was supposed to an innocent children's game. I guess you _can_ be too old to play kiddie games. Hell if I knew twenty-one was the age cap.

"This is a lovely meal. Thank you for inviting me over," Hawke says as he looks at the cups of tea and bowls filled with piping hot stew.

Kiriyama smiles. "A simple meal is the least I can do for the man who has helped Mina get back on her feet."

"It was no trouble at all. Mina is a very capable warrior and it is my pleasure to have her in my employ."

I almost choke on my food as I snort at that comment. A bit of stew dribbles down my chin and I wipe it away with the back of my hand since I'm the only one who doesn't have a place setting and I had to scrounge around for my own spoon. Pretty fabric napkins and fancy cutlery are set before Hawke and Kiriyama. I guess the wonderful teleporter only thought to purchase two on his little spending spree. Mossy hazel eyes narrow at me condescendingly. "Please, Mina." Kiriyama hands me his napkin to wipe my mouth. "Chew your food." I rip the napkin from his fingers.

Hawke is obviously impressed with the dinner; well, as impressed as a golem can look. Kiriyama is annoyingly pleased with himself as I wolf down the stew. Really, since when were these two such good friends? They only met today and yet they're able to make pleasant conversation about Hawke's homeland of Ferelden, which Hawke seems to miss dearly by the way his eyes go all misty when he talks about a place called Lothering. The first time I met Hawke, all he did was glare and interrogate me. Now here he is, all rumbling laughter and dashing smiles. Where's the epic showdown I paid for? What happened to Shark Hawke and Baby Harp Seal Kiriyama?

"I'm sorry." Hawke dabs at his mouth with his napkin and glances between me and Kiriyama. "How do you two know each other? I'm afraid Mina never mentioned you, Steven."

_Aw, fudgesicles!_

Kiri and I glance at each other and say at the same time: "We're childhood friends."

Okay, so that was a good cover story. It was great! Really, really great. But... It would’ve been _better_ if we hadn't hastily said it at the same time like we were trying to cover up a dirty little secret. As if he's thinking the same thing, Kiriyama throws me a subtle glance that says, "We screwed up." And _oh_ , did we screw up. Hawke looks like he's on red alert, golden eyes slowly roving over me and Kiriyama. I think if he had lived in my world, Garrett Hawke would have made a great detective. His Bullshit-o-meter is spot on.

Golden eyes sear my flesh and I'm surprised I don't smell myself cooking. "That's very interesting. And you’re staying over at Mina's home for how long, Steven?" Those smoldering eyes drag over to Kiriyama, awaiting his answer.

The serpent man smiles. "Until your trip into the Deep Roads."

"I asked him to stay. It's been a long time since I've seen him." I smile winningly but Hawke simply stares at me until the smile slides weakly off my face. I glance at Kiri to find his eyebrows raised, looking amused at my obvious discomfort.

_I will slice his throat open with this spoon…_

Instead of digging my hole even deeper, I shut my mouth and choose to focus on the bright orange pieces of carrot floating around in the brown broth and I stir them until they're all moving so fast that the entire contents of my bowl turns orange. My appetite has disappeared like the warm atmosphere and I blame that partly on the fact that I was pretty much inhaling my food like a high-suction vacuum cleaner. "Hawke, do I need to get any specific supplies for the expedition?" I ask just for the sake of breaking the ice.

"Yes," the mage replies quickly. "But you needn't worry about purchasing anything other than what you would normally bring on an overnight job. I will personally take care of any extra expenses."

I blink. "Really?"

"Yes. It's no trouble at all."

"That's very generous of you. You must like Mina quite a bit," Kiri interjects suddenly and it goes silent again. For some reason, this silence is so painfully awkward that I feel like someone is slowly peeling my skin off and dusting salt on the wound. I squirm for a bit and want to slap the back of Steven's head when I notice the ghost of a smile on his lips. Oh! So, he's teasing, is he? What a smug bastard. When it comes to Stone Cold Steven's jabs, I might as well throw Hawke under the bus to save myself some embarrassment.

"I'm Hawke's best sword." I give the two men my best sleazy grin as I attempt to ruffle both their feathers. "I keep an eye on his ass better than anyone else."

Kiriyama's perfectly arched eyebrows slowly rise as he replies without even missing a beat, "And I'm sure you enjoy every second of it if your appraisal of his figure when he first came in is anything to go by." I'm actually gawking. A year has passed and I somehow forgot just how quickly Steven Kiriyama thinks on his feet. He takes no prisoners and pulls no punches.

"Thank you very much for dinner, Steven, but I am afraid I have taken up far too much of your time and I must attend to some business dealings before it gets much later," Hawke says abruptly as he stands, cheeks a bit redder than usual. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Make sure you get rest this week, Mina, and I will see you soon to further discuss the details of the trip."

"Okay?" I call after the apostate as he swiftly exits with a few more pleasantries falling from his lips. Ah, _right_. Despite my embarrassment, a smile comes crawling onto my face. I almost forgot how easy it is to ruffle the mage's delicate feathers when it comes to sexual jokes. Sometimes I feel bad for taking advantage of that since Hawke's delicate sensibilities are such low hanging fruit. But in all honesty, the man is unmoved in all other realms, so exploiting this one weakness is very hard for me to resist. Especially since my sadistic self is tickled by his reactions.

Neither Kiriyama nor I get up to see him out. Agile fingers tap on the table and I look up to see Steven giving me a level look. "That was a close one," he says. "I guess we're lucky that you know your boss on a weirdly intimate level to know how to set him off."

I scoff, " _Intimate_? Hardly. I just know how to press people's buttons."

He shakes his dark head. "Either way, good job. He was really suspicious, but now the worst he can think is that you're in some shady business and I'm an employer or something. Relax. I don't think I ruined your chances of dating the man."

"Yeah. We kinda screwed up when we-" I freeze and my cheeks burn bright. "Oh, shut it! Dating? _Really_?"

"How does that one saying go? 'The lady doth protest too much'?"

"How does that one saying go? 'Shut the hell up'?" I mimic and he rolls his eyes.

There's the silence again. It's strange. Usually I can keep a conversation going, fueled by determination and the desire to talk incessantly about nothing. But there’s a wall between us of Kiriyama’s making. It’s mental but it feels physical. It’s like he knows that I’m bursting with a million questions, none of which he wants to answer. Even as I open my mouth to crack a joke, he stiffens and that gets me to shut my mouth once more. This is so very, very odd. And so very, very frustrating.

“Is there anything else that you want to say to me?” I ask and I couldn’t sound more bitter if I tried.

Hazel eyes glance at me, his pale hands folded on the table. “No. Why?”

An irritated huff of breath puffs from my nose. “Anything important?” He stiffens further and my eyes narrow. “About… this whole _Summoned_ thing?”

Sadly, I want to punch him when he mutely shakes his head and murmurs something that sounds like, “I’ve told you all I know.” Not just punch him, I want to deck him. To have someone so obviously lie to my face is frustrating. Especially when it concerns something highly important, like my summoning into this world and my status as some mythical “Eye.” As the silence between us drags on at a snail’s pace, the two of us sitting like an estranged couple at this rickety old table, I feel my temper flaring out of control.

"I'm going out for a walk," I inform the serpent as I grab a random scarf and Slicer as I head for the door, fuming. "Don't wait up." As I wrap the scarf around my head and let it fall around my shoulders, I hear Kiriyama begin moving about and am tempted to turn around. Feet freeze to the ground for a split second but I play it off as I hoist my Lord onto my back and leave without another word. Blood still pounds in my ears as my internal struggle orders me to leave. Run.

I wander for a while. Hours, maybe. It gives me time to digest all of this information. I definitely died. I was totally and completely dead. I knew this before, so it's not hard to swallow. I also knew, deep in my gut, that Carrow was pulling my strings like a puppet. What's a little more tough on the throat is the fact that _this_ isn't my body- it's a replica made from other people. That's very, very hard to swallow. In fact, the more I try and digest this bit of info, the more I feel like I'm going to hurl. The witch's words on Sundermount suddenly come crashing down on my head and I have to lean against a closed weapon stall.

_Stolen blood and flesh._

"Jesus Christ," I murmur, running a hand over my face, feeling the cold sweat there.

"Mina? Is that you?"

A strong voice makes me jerk around to see a head of flaming red hair and armor that glints in the moonlight step out from a dark alleyway. Warm green eyes peer at me from a stony face and I blink before looking around at my surroundings. Large estates gawk down at me, looking hollow and desolate in the limited light. When the hell did I get into Hightown? You'd swear I live here with how often I come around this part of the city.

An impatient cough drags my attention back onto Aveline and I smile bashfully before ducking my head in greeting. She too bows her head but that expectant look doesn't leave her face for a second. This is a woman who knows what she wants and won't give up until she gets it. I have to admire that about her. But what does she want from me?

"Good evening, Aveline."

"Good evening, Mina. Do you mind telling me what you're doing wandering around Hightown?" She crosses her arms as she approaches. "Is Hawke with you?"

_Why does everyone always assume one of us is physically attached to the other?_

"I'm just out on a nightly stroll to clear my mind."

"This place isn't safe at night, Mina. I know that you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, but Hawke has his mind set on bringing you along with him into the Deep." Coral colored lips thin into a line. "If you were to get injured, he would have to decide between bringing his brother or Fenris down there and I would honestly prefer for you to go."

My brow puckers, all thoughts of corpses disappearing. "Why? I sorta thought you didn't care for me too much."

The guardswoman sighs, "I like you as a person. I just can't respect what you do for a living."

_Yikes! That was blunt._

I gloss over her admission. "I understand why you would be hesitant about Carver going along since he's… excitable. But why not Fenris or yourself, then? Does it upset you that much that he's essentially a squatter?"

Hell, I'm pretty much a squatter as well. Fenris is staying at his former master's house, waiting for him to show up one day so the glowy elf can rearrange his organs, and I'm staying at my dead friend's place until I get tired of living in a tomb. We should start a club together with the requirements to join being that you must have been tortured by a mage and you must currently be living illegally in a place that's not your own. Oh! And you need deep psychological scars for proof, too. The proof should be that you must have mental breakdowns at least once a week, panic attacks, emotional outbursts that lean more toward the "anger" spectrum, and rapid mood swings. Can't forget about the bordering-on-unhealthy alcohol dependency, either… I need help.

"No, it's not that at all. Fenris… just isn't the most stable person Hawke likes to bring on jobs. You're a good woman, Mina, better than most people living in this city." The redheaded guard explains.

I grin. "That's awfully sweet of you to say. But why can't _you_ go? Guard duty?"

"Yes. I have a lot of responsibility since becoming Guard Captain."

_Oh, right!_

Isabela had come over in a huff one night, going on about Hawke helping Aveline to become Guard Captain. I didn't understand why it was such a big deal until Isabela told me that it made the red-head even more of a stickler for rules. Still, I don't see what all the hubbub is about considering Aveline's guard duties have absolutely nothing to do with me or Isabela. In fact, I thought she'd be _delighted_ to have some connections in the Guard. Guess it's just some good old-fashioned jealousy or something. She probably wouldn't have been so bitter about it if Hawke had helped her find whatever artifact she's after; tit for tat and all that. But back onto Aveline.

"Well, I'm glad that you trust me with Hawke's safety. I know you care deeply for him."

Pink blossoms onto her freckled cheeks and my eyebrows rise instinctively. "He has helped me a lot and I owe him more than I owe anyone else in my life. Now, please go home. I'm sure you know I've set a strict curfew in place ever since that string of murders I helped Hawke investigate."

"The one with the white roses?"

"Lilies. They were white lilies."

"Oh, right."

Aveline sighs, "Go now, Mina. I don't want to have to-"

"Oh!" I snigger into my cowl and grin deviously at the guard. "Are you going to _arrest_ me, Guard Captain? Will you put me in shackles and order me around?"

"Just _go_ ,” she deadpans.


	28. Lying by Omission

**20\. Lying by Omission**

"Goodbye... and be careful."

Warm air and warm light greet me when I exit my home, Kiriyama's smooth voice floating after me. Sweet and savory odors wander down from the market just a few blocks away to permeate the air. The door shuts behind me with an odd finality. I stand there on the doorstep for a moment, looking around the dusty little courtyard, trying to burn every detail into my mind before I head out. I look at the wooden crates, the cracked earth, and the rough faces of the homes that crowd the courtyard. This week flew by with no new information from Kiri. But time usually flies when you try to make it stay.

With anxiety leadening my muscles, I force myself toward Hightown. I wish Isabela was coming along on this trip. Although I certainly appreciate Varric's humor, I'm closer with the salty woman than the suave dwarf. It's a shame that she's been MIA as of late. It's so strange that I've seen less and less of her as she murmurs things about some artifact the same way I see less and less of Merrill as she goes on about her mirror. They've certainly made spending time with them difficult if not totally impossible. And I can't help but get my petty feelings hurt over it.

This past week I've spent my days rotating through my friends (well, when I can track them down) like I'm living on borrowed time. I know I certainly worried Merrill with my neurotic behavior when she could find the time to pry herself away from her creepy mirror, but I assured her that all was well- my exact words being a completely unconvincing "Everything is _fine_!" where my voice cracked on "fine." I wasn't truly lying to her, but she didn't need to know that I'm agonizing over the grisly details of my very existence.

I've also been spending time surprise-attacking Kiriyama with random questions to see if his "Summoned" story adds up. Unfortunately for me, all of his responses have been consistent, which means he either isn't lying or believes that nonsense. When I wasn't quizzing him, I was making meaningless chitchat. It's almost like I've been desperate for conversation with him (with anyone, really). But I also just… get a weird feeling in my gut when I'm around him. It's like he's _hiding_ something from me. And that heavy, leaden feeling still sits in the pit of my stomach even now. I feel like I'm missing something huge and it's right in front of my face waving around sparklers.

"Mina."

Jolting to attention, I nod my head at Hawke when I realize that I'm in a bustling square. "Oh, hiya Hawke."

"I'm glad you could join us," Garrett says tersely and I look around to see everyone waiting rather impatiently.

_Of course I'm late._

A hand gently rests on my shoulder and I look up to see Leandra. "Don't fret over it, Wilhelmina. You afforded me some time to spend with my eldest, so I've no complaints." The noblewoman smiles fondly.

"Oh. Heh, well." I lick my lips when I see Carver sulking off to the side, probably dragged here against his will. "That was my plan all along."

Hawke and his family wander off to the mass of people after Leandra shoots me a sweet smile. Everyone has someone to see them off. Wives fret over husbands and mothers fuss over their sons. Lovers kiss goodbye and whisper amorous words to each other. And me? I just stand awkwardly, scuffing the toe of my boot against dirtied, cracked tile and keeping my gaze lowered. I'm completely gobsmacked that Kiri didn't come to see me off like I asked. He said bye, sure, but still. I hate feeling like an unwanted loser.

I tilt my head back and sigh. Is it abandonment issues? Really? Because I'm feeling like there's this huge spotlight on me, revealing to everyone that I'm _alone_. Merrill is busy, Isabela is AWOL, and Carver hates me. Speaking of Carver, I chance a glance at the young swordsman and find him stiffly giving me the cold shoulder. That rips me out of my pity party and thrusts me firmly into cool indignation. He's acting like _I_ convinced Hawke to take me along instead. Like this is all my fault. No, honey, it's not my fault that I'm a team player and Baby Hawke isn't. I cross my arms and huff.

Stupidly, the thing that really irks me about the previous week is that even though I made my presence painfully obvious (even accidentally toppling over an angry dwarf in my haste to stay on his trail) not once did Carver pay me any mind. Once I even called out his name with the hopes of trying to patch up our friendship, but he didn't even flinch. After the second day of him ignoring my existence, I gave up and just stuck to keeping Merrill company. If he wanted me to come begging and pleading for his forgiveness, I can assure you it's _not_ going to happen.

If there's one thing that my mom's rejection taught me, it's that pride is a great and terrible thing. When I was six years old and shameless, I had realized that my being sent off to my grandparents' wasn't a sleep over after all. Though I loved my silent but doting grandfather and my strict but warm grandmother, and I enjoyed having the constant company of another kid in my young uncle, I missed my mom and my infant brother. So, I begged for my mom to take me back. I cried over the phone to no avail and even tried running away but got lost rather quickly. It's something that's stuck with me no matter how hard I try to shake it. And I'll be damned if I let someone have that sort of control over me again.

_Don't need even more people making a fool out of me._

"Mina!" Comes Hawke's voice over the rabble.

"Coming!" I answer at once, glad for the distraction before I scurry after Hawke and company.

A gloved hand rests on my elbow and I look down to see Varric giving me a look that's somewhere between expectant and worried; like a psychiatrist. I've been told before that my expressions are rather easy to read, so I wouldn't be surprised if the dapper dwarf now wants to have a little chat with me over how my home life is. Or something. Varric has definitely taken the role of father figure or older brother for most everyone in the group, myself included, and I can't say that I'm not grateful. It's just that sometimes I would like time to sort out my thoughts before talking about them with someone.

But Varric isn't having any of that as he asks quite bluntly, "Feeling anxious, Lucky?"

"Not yet," I respond appropriately.

"Where's your illusive friend I've heard so much about? He seemed pretty attached to you. Like Biscuit with Hawke."

"He's off doing his own important things," I grumble, not really surprised that Varric knows about Kiriyama, considering the dwarf probably has everyone watched like a mob boss. _And_ he probably got the down-low from Hawke.

"Really?" A blond eyebrow rises. "Well, I suppose stalking is considered important to some people."

"What?"

The dwarf tilts his head slightly to the right and my eyes follow as he repeats, " _Stalking_." There, partly hidden by shadow and stone pillar, is Steven Kiriyama. Although I was literally just complaining about him not seeing me off, this is kind of creepy. This takes "creepy" to a whole new level, actually. With a wince I wave and he nods his head to confirm that he saw the gesture. Behind me I hear Varric's throaty chuckle and take that as a sign to whirl around and hurry after the rest of the crew with the rogue at my side. I barely even focus on the where my feet take me.

* * *

I'm so deep in my troubling thoughts about Kiriyama and his relationship with Carrow that I barely notice when the scenery changes. Deep, earthy tones of red dirt have been hollowed out into wide gaping tunnels which lead to more tunnels and more and more; and with each tunnel we go down, the light fades before finally giving way to suffocating darkness. My calm, devil-may-care attitude vanishes with the natural light. Torches are lit with the snap of stone and hiss of pitch catching fire but my nerves are still frayed.

If I weren't the one about to have a panic attack, I'd laugh. I mean _come on_. Here's this battle-hardened woman who lacks any real morals and doesn't adhere to any specific code of conduct, someone who is only out for herself and is greedy, someone who is infuriatingly flippant towards authority figures and blasphemes on a daily basis, and she's shivering like a Chihuahua that got rained on because she's in a "scawy" dark tunnel. Poor baby! Sadly, my bitingly cynical overview of myself can't snap me out of my silent and mostly hidden mental breakdown.

Anders takes one pitying look at me, hefts his torch, and beckons for me to keep close to him and I don't argue- don't even bother to put on a front. Everything echoes down here in the Deep Roads. A bead of sweat that falls off of a chin to patter against the cold earth sounds like a clap of thunder. The cold here is suffocating and the heat from the occasional rivulet of brightly glowing lava is downright stifling. This is a place of extremes. Everything is quiet save for the constant rumble and gurgle of lava somewhere beneath our feet. I have to focus on keeping up with the caravan to fight off a bout of hysteria at the thought of being trapped here underground.

Breath comes out as a shaky, frail rasp as I play awful disaster-film-esque scenarios over and over in my head. The breath has the consistency of crepe paper but cuts through the air nonetheless. Soulful gold eyes look back at me in a flash of color that tears through the darkness. A hand reaches through the dimly lit caverns to gently brush over the shoulder of the rogue next to him. Looks are exchanged, a nod here and a tight smile there; then Varric is moving from Hawke's side to walk right next to me, warm eyes scanning me critically before I'm offered a comforting smile.

Lips feel stiff as I try to warp them into some socially acceptable expression. Too bad the dwarf doesn't buy it for a second, even after all that hard work on my facial muscles. I turn my attention onto the group of men ahead of us. Dwarves and humans look around warily. "How much longer?" I ask no one in particular, but since I say it so softly Varric is the only one who hears me.

"We're making good time. Hopefully we'll be done with this trip sooner rather than later," Varric says lowly, as if I'm some baby raccoon he's afraid to spook.

"Oh, really?" I ask lamely, all social awkwardness as I try to muster up my nonexistent intestinal fortitude.

"What? You aren't disappointed, are you?"

_Show time!_

In an attempt to save face, I make a show of shrugging and chuckling, "You kidding me, hon? We just got here! I want to see all the scary ghouls that lurk down in these caves and fight with them over treasure like two poor people over a piece of moldy cheese!"

Beside me, Varric's lips twitch as he looks ahead. "Lucky, you have one strange sense of humor." A few of our fellow adventurers glance back at us curiously and my cheeks flush. Damn, voices really do carry down here, don't they? Well, voices along with every other thing that causes even the faintest noise because of the acoustics. I hope my stomach doesn't growl.

"I suppose you could call the Darkspawn 'ghouls'," comes Anders' quiet voice ahead of us.

"They're ugly enough," I admit as the mage glances back at me and the dwarf. "You've fought them before, Andy? Douglas told me once that people can go an entire lifetime without seeing a single Darkspawn."

"Douglas?" Varric asks curiously, eyebrow raised.

"He's nobody, Shortcake. Don't worry," I simper.

"Yes, I've fought them before," Anders says as he drags us back on track. "I… used to be a Grey Warden." With his face staring directly in front of him, I can't really make out the last thing he says because he mumbles it, as if he's ashamed.

_A game warden?_

I blink. "People hunt Darkspawn?"

Warm brown eyes glance at me as the healer turns his head to clarify, "Um, no not exactly. The Grey Wardens fight Darkspawn to protect others and keep Thedas safe."

"Oh!" I laugh, " _Grey_ Warden! I thought you said something else, sorry." I listen as my own laugh reverberates off of the cavern walls. "So, you were a Grey Warden and you fought Darkspawn for a living? Must've been scary."

His feathery mantle goes up and down as he shrugs. "I didn't exactly have a say in the matter." After that, the air thickens with tension and I share an uneasy look with Varric. Heat suddenly blasts against my face and I realize that it isn't just tension that's making the air thick as the tunnel begins to glow with yellow light. We exit into a wide space with lava churning far below a narrow walkway. It's open here- portions of the cavern ceiling weathered away to expose the sky above and allow just a hint of fresh air in.

Everyone traverses the narrow path carefully and we all breathe a collective sigh of relief when the last person makes it safely onto the large plateau on the other side. Then the journey continues like normal with terrifying camp outs in flimsy tents and exhausting treks that leave me breathless and achy. That is until we come across a collapsed tunnel- the tunnel we were  _supposed_ to take- and Varric's brother Bartrand just about blows a gasket. The arrogant dwarf was the only one who seemed unaffected about being in the Deep Roads and now he's screaming at his comrades like a lunatic. I have to say it's getting annoying fast and I'm close to punting him like a bearded football when Hawke goes to calm him down.

"The path is blocked," I say rather pointlessly but my comrades seem to have grown accustomed to my neurotic behavior down here.

Anders pulls a waterskin from his pack and hands it to me. "Yes, but there are other ways around it."

"Really?" I ask around a mouthful of water, "Where?"

"All of these tunnels intersect at some point. Though the dwarves were confident in their craftsmanship, they had the foresight to build the paths in such a way in case of cave-ins."

We share a haunted look at that word, "cave-ins." That's certainly not anything I want to think about. Not when I'm down in some friggin' caves, anyway. With a shaking hand, I give the mage back his waterskin and try not to picture any grisly scenarios involving us being crushed to death. I may joke about that stuff but that's only because I use humor as a way to ease my nerves. Humor detaches me from the reality of how awful such a situation would be. Hawke was _right_. I _am_ afraid of some little tunnels. Some little _big_ tunnels possibly hundreds of miles below the surface, where no one can hear you scream for help.

"Mina, snap out of it."

I startle at his voice. "Huh?"

Anders gives me a serious look. "I can see what you're thinking. Stop dwelling on it. We're here and we need to get a job done." He rests his hand on my shoulder. "Keep it together."

I nod furiously as Varric bumps my elbow. "Right. Right."

Keep it together? Easier said than done, but that doesn't make it impossible to accomplish. I just need to stop being such a damn spaz. Honestly, I think being locked up in Carrow's dungeons just made my fear of enclosed spaces even worse. It was like trying to get over arachnophobia by having a bunch of poisonous spiders dumped on your head. It didn't help things, if anything it just made the fear more intense and actually validated it.

"This way." Our trio snaps to attention at the sound of Hawke's voice and we spot our leader beckoning us over, map in hand. I can already tell that I'm not going to like whatever it is that he has to say. Not because I've been in a terrible mood ever since coming down here, but because of the grave look on the mage's face that's thinly veiled by stoicism and a hint of optimism. Reluctantly I trudge over behind the men as if using them as a meat shield to protect me from whatever bad news Hawke has to tell us.

"Good news?" Varric asks hopefully.

"We're going to scout an alternate route around the cave-in. There are bound to be Darkspawn on the way along with other creatures, so we'll clear those out for the group." Hawke turns slightly to gesture toward an antsy dwarf who looks like he's about to cry. "We will also look for Bodahn's boy, Sandal. He got lost in the tunnels a little while ago."

"We're going off on our _own_?" I ask, completely aghast.

"Is that a problem?" Bartrand asks gruffly and I'm tempted to strangle his blond, braided beard.

"Of course not." Hawke replies curtly, golden eyes burning into me. "Let's go."

I shoot Bartrand and the dwarf Bodahn an overly toothy grin, shout, "We're happy to help!" and then I trundle after the uncomplaining men like a little fool.

_Son of a bitch!_

Of _course_ Hawke would offer us up like lambs to slaughter! What annoys me more than his self-righteous, condescending attitude is his whole bizarre "give, give, give" mentality. Like the world really works that way? You can't survive in the world by being this overly generous person who doesn't ask for much in return. Hawke only asks for what's fair. But the concept of fairness is lost on these people and even on Hawke because "saving someone from demons for a couple of coins" isn't even close to fair! Oh, and sending an apostate amongst Templars to get a job done screams the opposite of "fair" to me. And fair to Hawke means that whoever he's doing a favor for doesn't rat him out to the Templars.

It's Varric and Isabela who really push for the coin on jobs, hell _I've_ even guilted or extorted money from employers. Garrett Hawke doesn't ask for coin when it isn't offered because he assumes that he'll be able to scrounge enough loot off of the bodies of our enemies. If only it were so easy. Hawke's lax business sense (or _lack of_ business sense) has thrown me for a loop several times. It's strange how this strict, rigid man can be so subdued and, dare I say it, _shy_ when it comes to demanding money from people. But I guess he thinks that by being everyone's go-to guy to get jobs done, it'll make him valuable and make people want to protect him from Templars. It's stupid.

_Well, it worked on_ you _, right?_

Scowling at my own thought, I continue to trudge after the group. Hawke can be a total hardass in battle but he's a complete kitten with other people. He's charming and patient with strangers and everyone else. He makes friends almost everywhere he goes by being all helpful and selfless. And that personality quirk is going to lead us all to our untimely deaths. But this time I plan on getting my fair share if we make it through this. Why? Because my services have been extended to _Bartrand_ , who I know for a fact has a lot of dough to spare if he can afford some digs in Hightown.

"Incoming!"

I hiss from between my teeth, " _Really_?"

Not even five minutes in and we're already being jumped by Darkspawn. Pasty white flesh is split as I slash Slicer across one of the dreaded creatures' faces. It shrieks and growls at me before lunging forward. With a quick shuffle, I dodge and plunge my blade into its back as it stumbles when those gnarled claws swipe at thin air. A gurgle escapes its throat when I jerk my arm to make sure the blow is lethal before pushing the hideous thing off of my Lord with my foot. Rinse and repeat until the Darkspawn ambush runs dry.

"My goodness, this place is crawling with Darkspawn!" I whine as I wipe a spattering of blood off my cheek in disgust, "And this is supposed to be off-season?"

"Enough complaining." Hawke snaps as he twirls his staff and blasts a lone spider with fire, "You act as though you've never been in combat before. This is nothing."

Making a face at his back, I follow the mage to my doom. Well, first I follow him to a young blond dwarf with blue eyes who only seems to be able to say only a few words, namely "Enchantment," and we quickly escort him back to the main camp to a teary Bodahn who fervently thanks us for our help. _Then_ I follow Hawke to my doom as we traverse through the tunnels we had already cleared out and delve even deeper into the seemingly endless Deep Roads.

_This place is awful! It's so dark and- Oh!_

An almost filmy light filters into the mouth of the tunnel that we're in and we hurry to exit. Pale green and blue stairs and column-like structures made of smooth stone replace the barren tunnels I've grown accustomed to. Intricate, blocky, ancient looking statues of what look to be dwarves are placed evenly along a broken path. It's reasonably well lit in this portion of the Deep Roads and actually a bit pleasant. Sheesh, I've been down here too goddamn long if I'm beginning to describe anything even remotely associated with the Deep Roads as anything but _awful_. But still, this is a nice change from dank cavern walls and oppressive darkness.

"Aw, this isn't so bad," I note as Hawke begins to set up camp. Immediately I follow suit, thankful for the break as I unravel my bedroll and begin to unfold blankets and sort through my food supply. Everyone begins to put our little camp together, knowing that we would all probably collapse from exhaustion if we tried to go back to the main camp and inform Bartrand that we found a new pathway. Hawke offers me some water and I accept it with raised eyebrows. Ever since we first started this expedition, Hawke's been treating me with kid gloves. Not that I'm complaining about the lack of insults directed towards my allegedly awful fighting form, but it's a bit unsettling.

"This is the path we were looking for," Anders sighs. "Well, it definitely looks better than what we've been traveling through for the last few hours."

Varric nods from his seated position by the fire he just made. "Yup. It's a cavern, all right. The Ancestors must have been crazy, though. You couldn't pay me enough to live down here." His honeyed eyes dart over to one of the many imposing statues. "Even with its homey décor."

"What?" I gasp dramatically. "You don't want tons of thousands of pounds of dirt above your head at all times, ready to collapse on you at any moment and literally crush the life out of your body; leaving you a broken, bloody mess that will never be recovered and therefore never lain to rest, making a sad orphan of your soul as your spirit wails forevermore throughout the lonely, desolate Deep?"

"Why did you have to say that?" Anders glares, stopped in the middle of dusting off his bedroll as Varric sniggers.

"You're a sick girl, Lucky."

"I try. Really, I do." I grin despite the goosebumps I just gave myself. As I say this, I don't take my eyes off of the blond healer. He looks paler than usual and a thin sheen of sweat covers his brow. His movements are erratic and he's terribly fidgety, jumping at every loose pebble that falls to the ground and each shuffle made by Hawke as the dark-haired man flits to and fro in an effort to make the camp secure. It takes a moment for it to click in my head that Anders is terrified of this place. Well, not terrified, more like… he really, _really_ doesn't like it here. And I can't fault the blond mage for that. This place looks like a bunch of catacombs and the occasional skeleton here and there only hammers that comparison into my head.

Some skeletons are obviously dwarven in stature while others look rather humanoid. I can only guess that they're what remains of some Darkspawn; those ugly, deformed creatures with big teeth and gnarled claws that enjoy ripping people to shreds. I swear if one of those things sneaks up on us while we're asleep I'll scream like a little girl. No joke. Fighting enemies up on the surface is different from being underground. Up top, there's fresh air and a wide open sky. Down here, it's like a tomb. And it's so dark in places that my legs shake like crazy as I try not to stumble and fall over unseen rubble. Coming down here was a mistake on my part, but I didn't want Hawke thinking that I'm a wuss by not tagging along. So I put on my brave face as the team's muscle and try not to jump every time Anders jumps.

_And he tells me to keep it together? Well, it was_ my _stupid comment that set him off…_

I'm so close to yelling at the blond to cut the shit because his antsy behavior is putting me even more on edge, but losing my temper wouldn't do anyone any good judging by Hawke's brooding expression and Varric's unusually grave face. Even with Anders being as jumpy as a grasshopper, I'm _still_ the most wired out of the group, which is pretty embarrassing. However, everyone but Varric's scumbag brother Bartrand is on edge down here… Those two are so incredibly different like Hawke and Carver. Or like me and Mike.

With a sigh, I listen as Hawke issues shifts for taking watch and I don't even make a fuss when he doesn't assign me a post (he had looked at me long and hard, though, probably not wanting to trust his life in the hands of someone who is so obviously keyed up). Instead, I snuggle up on my bedroll and bury myself beneath my blankets. Though I'm incredibly tense and can sense the uneasiness of my comrades like an incoming storm, I focus on the comforting warmth of my sheets and the sound of my own heart beating. Breathing slows down as a fog descends upon my mind. Sleep takes me.

* * *

A soft, feathery thing tickles my nose and I bat it away. My hand comes into contact with nothing but air, so I promptly sit up and ready myself to swear at whoever is interrupting my beauty sleep with childish games. Instead of ancient architecture in a desolate, underground passageway, I'm met with a field of grass painted blue by the moonlight. Reeds as long as my arm swat at my face so I quickly get to my knees and stumble to my feet in order to get a better view of my surroundings.

Everything looks to be in soft focus; nothing is sharp or clear, all rounded fuzzy edges and washed out colors. This is a familiar sight for me and it doesn't take much effort to figure out that I'm in one of those bizarre, interactive dreams that I often experienced with Carrow… Which must mean that he's around here somewhere in this endless field of reeds and pale flowers.

An airy sigh catches my attention and I whirl around. A skeletal creature hidden behind a curtain of fine blond hair stands in the middle of a circle of dead grass. Pale fingers brush away thin strands of platinum silk before moving along cracked, flaky lips. Nails drag at the dry skin for a moment as icy eyes carefully evaluate the surroundings as if searching for something.

Nervously, I clear my throat and those soulless eyes fly to me in a heartbeat. I swear my heart just about implodes from the wall of familiar, smothering energy that smacks into me like a relentless tidal wave. Shifting my weight onto my left leg I grumble, "Why are you visiting me _now_? I haven't seen you in ages and suddenly you're here. I hate to be a bad hostess, but I need rest."

Icy eyes blink slowly as the nobleman asks in a clearly condescending tone, "Dearest, _w_ _hy_ are you surrounded by Darkspawn?"

It's my turn to blink a few times in confusion before sputtering out, "Uh. Because I'm in the Deep Roads? There are lots of Darkspawn down here, apparently." I shrug uncomfortably beneath his unwavering gaze and look around. "Besides, there aren't any here."

"Are you mad? I can sense them."

_Pot, meet Kettle._

My lip twitches as I snatch up a tiny white flower bud from one of the many reeds. "Heh, _no_. I'm on an expedition. For treasure." After thinking on that for a second, I sigh, "Well, I guess I'd have to be a bit crazy to _willingly_ travel to the Deep Roads."

The wiry mage goes a bit misty-eyed. "Oh, I remember when I used to go about on adventures. Ah, but I'm not exactly up for cavorting about the countryside nowadays."

Taking in his unusually thin figure swathed in a white robe, I respond in the usual polite and semi-casual way that I've taken to using around him since our days hanging around my dreamscape, "You're still a spry young thing." I chuckle when he huffs, "Anyway, why are you here in my dreams? You never answered me."

Clicking his tongue, Carrow steps out of his ring of brown grass and gestures for me to follow him. Reluctantly, I shadow the lunatic. I'm not one for being told what to do in my own head, but I'm dying of curiosity. And as sick as it sounds, it actually comes as a bit of relief to see the demented mage here in my little peabrain. As long as he's _here_ , that means he isn't terrorizing Kiriyama or ordering the serpent around to do his awful bidding. If Carrow is here, he isn't summoning more people to add to this shitshow.

The silky flower bud is tossed aside as I pluck a thick reed and slash it across the blue grass as I follow Carrow's smooth movements. It's odd how he always seems to glide whenever he walks. Uncle Carl tried to get me to walk around with books on my head once, when he was struck with the sudden fear that I would remain single forever and therefore live at home forever if I remained as boyish as I was (I was nine!). He tried having me do a bunch of other ridiculous things to "build up my elegance." Sorry, Uncle Carl, but even in my new life I'm not very feminine.

Pursing my lips at the memory of my childish uncle who is (or _was_ ) only ten years older than me. I remember when he shaved his long black hair off before entering the police academy and my grandma had cried for days because he was _so ugly_. He honestly looked like a goblin and I told him that on several occasions to the point that he started wearing an Astros cap everywhere until it grew back. A sad grin spreads across my face. I look up to the sky to take my mind off of him. Stars glitter brightly like diamonds adorning a garment of fine black silk. The whorls of gems nearly take my breath away and I stop mid-stride just so I can gawk up at such a beautiful sight.

Ahead of me I hear a raspy chuckle and quickly snap out of my stupor to continue after my favorite sociopath, "I admit that your mind is one of the most creative ones I've seen."

"Thank you?"

"No, thank _you_ for allowing me inside. But I suppose that is something that friends do for one another, if I am not mistaken?"

Skin crawls but I nod anyway. "It is."

"Fantastic."

We're left to settle in silence as the idle chatter dies down. I use this time to build up a list of questions that I have for the man, though I only really have one important one. When have I _never_ had a question for him? The psycho is an enigma that I want to figure out on some days and on others I wish to simply end his existence without any regard to the hows and whys of my summoning. So of course it's a plus that he's only here in my head since I know I'll never be able to strangle the life from him in my unconscious state, leaving me to focus on more productive thoughts.

A peculiar sound reaches my ears when I'm in the middle of fine-tuning my verbal assault. It's a familiar sound that I heard quite often during my childhood; a sort of violent and destructive noise that would appear calming to others but sets my teeth on edge and makes my muscles stiffen. Directing my gaze ahead, I spot a line of churning ink beyond Carrow's slight figure. As if sensing my discomfort, the blond mage glances over his shoulder at me with raised eyebrows and a tight-lipped smile, "You keep the ocean so far away."

"Why are you taking me here?" I ask stiffly, muscles tense.

"I find the sound soothing."

"Well, _I_ don't," I snap.

"I know. But I quite like the noise."

Feet plant into the ground. I refuse to budge another inch closer to that watery trap. "Then we'll stop right here." I cross my arms. "You can hear it from here just fine."

Cold eyes appraise me a moment before the mage turns around. "Fine. What do you want to ask?"

I roll my eyes since this is the third time I'm having to ask, " _Why_ are you visiting me?"

"I wanted to see you." Is his simple reply.

_Really? My gosh I'm a lunatic magnet._

"Okay. Thanks for answering. Now riddle me this," I chomp down on my lip as I prepare myself for a difficult Q&A, "what's this business with you, Kiriyama, and some mysterious boy?"

"Beg pardon?" Carrow's eyes glitter as he looks at me and I know that he's playing games now. "A boy?"

"Yes, a _boy_. A soul-sucking boy. You and Kiriyama summoned him and he escaped. Kiriyama told me all about it. He seemed guilty when he told me." Steeling myself, I bite out, "You need to stop manipulating him, Dermot. I won't stand for it. You're making him do things that he regrets and it _has_ to come to an end."

Okay, let's pause for a sec. I'm being bold. Bold and stupid. Because let's be real: Who the hell am I to try and boss Dermot Carrow IV around? The guy played me and even had me playing myself when I was imprisoned by him. He's stronger than me, smarter, more cut-throat than I could ever dream of being. He's a ruthless, remorseless killer. And me? I'm the little punk-ass bitch he summoned using an unfathomable amount of raw power.

"Ah, yes! It's coming to me now." A bony finger taps at his chin and the mage pivots on his heel to face me, "But did he really tell you _everything_? I'd think not, considering you're under the misguided notion that I coerced him into aiding me."

I sigh exasperatedly, "C'mon, Dermot. I know you're not one to mince words. We both know Kiri only went to you to _kill you_ for what you did to us. He didn't, obviously, but that was because he wanted to figure out the mystery of our origins. He _wouldn't_ willingly help you sacrifice enough people to summon someone." I cross my arms, as if I'm guarding myself when I detect a hint of taunting in those blue eyes. "He's not like that," I insist. And I really don't know why I'm defending the guy's honor. Honestly. Especially after he spent nearly a week lying to me.

Carrow's eyes darken. "The man is not as innocent as you'd like to think, dearest. How very foolish of you to simply erase what he did to you. It was in another life, yes, but men do not suffer change easily. Our Steven has always had a certain darkness in him that's fueled by a thirst for the truth. He would do _anything_ for the truth. How quickly you excuse him. How readily you make me the convenient scapegoat."

For the longest time, I stare. And that's all I do. "You're right. He does have the capacity for great evil." The blond smiles and I decide to appeal to the mage's unsettling fondness for me. "However, I'd still like to know more about this boy in the interest of keeping _myself_ safe. I've heard he's very fond of killing magic users and I happen to emit magic when I compel people."

"Kiriyama says that your lack of knowledge of this situation is what's best for you." Carrow shrugs indifferently and my face falls. "The man has known you the longest out of the two of us and I've never had much female company before, so I must trust his judgment. Our dear man is very good at these sorts of things, you know."

"What things?"

" _Lies_." Those cold eyes pierce me. "You both are. He's just better."

My lip twitches as I fight the urge to swear at him. "Then what _can_ you tell me about this kid? About _anything_?"

"Only that you most certainly will not be pleased by what you will find if you decide to go after Kiriyama."

"Wh-?"

"We are in your head right now, Mina." The blood mage sighs as if we've gone through this many times before. "You've been plotting to go after Kiriyama after your expedition is over for quite some time. Hm… for a week before your trip, I believe, which makes it not even a month old. The idea is a bit stale because you haven't given it much thought since entering the Deep Roads, but it is still one that you will ultimately choose to act on. You want to _save_ him."

"You can't stop me," I bite out.

Carrow takes a step forward. "Do not do it. The boy will be killed before the year ends and you will not have to trouble yourself with any unnecessary conflicts."

Strangling him seems far more enjoyable now than patiently asking questions and waiting on answers. Admittedly it would be a hell of a lot more satisfying, considering I've never had much patience for the whole "twenty questions" bit that people seem to enjoy. I don't want to put puzzle pieces together in my head and search for clues. I want to be told the straight-up facts in one fell swoop and be over and done with it already. I don't like mysteries, especially not when they involve myself and people who matter to me.

"Whatever you have to say, I can handle it," I seethe.

Blue eyes gaze at me. "There has always been the blatant lie floating around about women being the delicate sex. It's as old as time itself. However, what I have to tell you will make you live up to the lie, dear. Sentiment is a weakness and you have it in abundance. It makes you a fool."

"Wait, what?" My brow furrows in confusion.

Carrow hums softly to himself and looks off at the moon. It looks like a giant wheel of cheese, its craters clearly defined. "I killed my family out of necessity. I could not allow sentiment to get in the way. But my brothers? There was not much sentiment to be had _there_."

"You had brothers?" My heart skips a beat as his taunting gaze cuts to me. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

There's this unsettling look in the mage's eyes as he watches me, as if waiting for me to do something. He wouldn't answer my questions about the boy or why Kiriyama is keeping things from me and he said it would only upset me. He said it's about _family_. And Kiriyama... In that mess of information that he gave me, he made sure to tell me one thing in particular. He was uneasy about it. Almost reluctant. Our _essences_. The tether to our world.

Something digs into my brain like glass shards. I'm on the precipice of a discovery that I don't want to find. That guilty look on Kiriyama's face all those times we talked to each other, how he wouldn't meet my gaze at times… Those sparklers have turned into full-blown fireworks now and I'm almost blinded by how glaringly obvious the whole situation is. But I'm still not really getting it. Or I do get it but I can't… No! It's _not_ possible. Kiriyama wouldn't- he couldn't do that to me. He _wouldn't_!

"Does thinking hurt you that much, dearest? Do I need to spell out the obvious to you?"

"Tell me!" I hiss as my eyes start to burn.

"Hm…"

"Tell me!" I scream, heart hammering so hard in my chest that it's all I can hear, " _Tell me!_ It's my brother, isn't it? The boy is Mike!" My voice cracks on his name and I bite back a furious scream.

Carrow chuckles into his sleeve, blue eyes turned to crescents. "Sentiment, dear."

Lashing forward, I grip the man's arms in a death grip. "Carrow! Tell me where the hell my brother is!"

Three pairs of eyes stare at me as I glare at the cracked knees of a statue, arms outstretched. The ocean is gone, the blue grass is gone, the sky full of beautiful stars is gone, and most importantly _Carrow_ is gone. I'm standing up, drenched in sweat in the middle of camp with everyone looking at me as if I'm a loon. My heart still pounds and my eyes still burn with unshed tears. Chest heaving, I wipe at my eyes furiously with a shaking fist and try desperately to get a hold of myself and come up with some sort of excuse. "N-Nightmare," I mumble as I sit back down on my bedroll.

Varric's semi-groggy eyes watch me intently. I look up to catch his gaze and shake my head furiously. There's no way that I can talk about this right now. Not when- My chest tightens painfully. Here I am deep underground, somewhere below Kirkwall or Sundermount, somewhere in that general vicinity, when I should be in _Ferelden_. That's where I _need_ to be. That's where I _should_ be. I should be in the Frostback Mountains, searching for _him_. But I'm not. I'm here, searching for treasure. And there's no way that I can get out in time. It took days to get to this point in the Deep Roads, so it would take days to get back out and maybe a month or more to get back to Ferelden without Ki-

_That son of a bitch! I knew he wasn't telling me something!_

Sharp, hot pain makes me jerk to attention. Looking down, I realize that I've been squeezing my fists so hard that my nails have pierced my flesh. A lazy stream of blood pools between my fingers before dripping onto my leg. The droplets quiver on my thigh for a moment before either being absorbed by the soft leather or rolling off, beading, and then dropping to the stone floor. My throat jerks as I swallow thickly, then I get to my knees and stand. Neither Garrett nor Anders have taken their eyes off me. I refuse to make eye contact as I ready myself to make a statement. I take a breath.

"I'm leaving."


	29. Kiriyama: 09. Exhumed

**Kiriyama: 09. Exhumed**

I had to see her first. Of course I did.

Before I could go on the hunt for Michael, before I could get myself all twisted up in “Summoned” affairs, I had to go to Mina and make sure that Michael hadn’t somehow found his way to her first. Of course he didn’t. He’d have to be able to teleport to make it across the country, on a boat, and all the way over to the Free Marches. Kirkwall is still strict on immigration, too, so he would’ve been hard pressed to get inside the city.

Still, even logically thinking through what would’ve been the arduous process that he would have to go through just to find his way into Mina’s corner of Lowtown, I had to come and see for myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. With nobody but Carrow for company all this time, speaking to her felt like some semblance of normalcy. It was like I’d been in prison all this time and just finally got back home.

And then I got to explaining myself and it was like I was right back there with Carrow. It was distressing to have the woman looking to me for answers when I relayed the information to her about our origins. It was sobering to relay second-hand information and then have her ask for more than I knew. All I had to offer were the bits and pieces that Carrow had hastily given me. And Mina? She, understandably, wasn’t satisfied with that.

Even given the direness of the situation, with Michael’s strange nature revealed and myself just barely healed, I should’ve pressed Carrow for _more_. He’d given readily, eagerly, and yet in my haste to see to Mina I hadn’t even capitalized on his openness to get the _one thing_ I’d been lingering around for all this time: Answers. The mage had opened his notes, his book to me. He’d revealed that he’d been too hasty in his summoning that he hadn’t done thorough research.

Yet I heard that Mina was in trouble and that was all I focused on. I let the opportunity slip through my fingers and now Mina thinks I’m purposefully keeping information from her when the reality is that I don’t have much to give in the first place. I’m almost still as clueless as when I started off on this quest for knowledge and revenge. A willing accomplice to murder, getting in Carrow’s good graces, I’d just built up a rapport to where he’d deign to impart his wisdom on me and I sped off.

And I speed off again the moment she’s gone. In truth, I shouldn’t have indulged either of us by sticking around like I did. Though I highly doubt Michael is anywhere near the eastern coast of Ferelden given it’s only been a few days- not even a _week_ \- there’s still the possibility that he could’ve frozen to death already. Now, wouldn’t _that_ be wonderful? Although I don’t think he’s dumb enough not to find a cave or stop off in a village or _something_ , it was still foolish of me to linger in Kirkwall.

Michael is alone in the mountains. Strange and dangerous as he may be, I don’t think being an Alter can keep him from succumbing to the elements… Or getting eaten by a bear. And as I find myself back in the Frostbacks, guilt pools in my gut as I gaze out at the wide expanse of sparse trees and frozen earth. Christ, I couldn’t have picked a worse spot to lose him aside from maybe the Deep Roads, which I don’t envy Mina for going to.

It snows here constantly. Icy flakes drift down languidly, attaching to my eyelashes and coating my hair and cloak in white. While the weather changes everywhere else, the cold is constant and unforgiving. But I suppose that is a blessing right now, when the streets are paved with the carcasses of humans and wolves alike; preserving their shocked and terrified faces. An abandoned caravan up the road alerted me to the strange happenings and at first I thought that the poor saps had been slaughtered by wolves. But there was no blood, at least not with all of them.

The men looked like broken dolls in their leathers with their weaponry still strapped to their bodies. Whatever attacked them must have been quite stealthy and fast. The wolves looked like tame dogs, curled up as if in the depths of sleep. I wouldn't have been able to figure out the puzzle if it weren't for the presence of one badly mangled body with its bloodied robes and the staff that lay just out of reach of its outstretched hand. Was it once a man or a woman? I couldn't tell. But it was obviously a mage.

Now I'm hurrying down the road, looking for tracks or any other indicator that Michael is nearby. Only _he_ could've done such a thing. I don't know of anything or anyone else in this strange world that would only brutalize a mage and leave all other threats intact. My cloak is wrapped around my body, securing my warmth even as the wind starts to howl. Due to the cold, it was impossible for me to tell if the bodies had been there for long. The limbs were stiff, but rigor mortis tends to set in after just a few hours and the dead men could have been there for days. Not many people traverse these roads, so it's possible that the caravan had gone undiscovered because of the weather.

Still, everything is uncertain.

Compacted snow crunches beneath my boots as I abandon the road and take to the forest. Not a single woodland creature makes a sound and I find it oddly disturbing and promising. During my travels I've always heard the chirp of a bird or grunt of a bear, so I know that it isn't _my_ presence that disturbs them. This must mean that Michael is still close at hand and I'll have a chance to keep him from making his way to Mina whether that means by force or by having a "calm" conversation with him about how he can't safely be in her presence. Hopefully I can drag that conversation out for whatever the hell kind of bonding Carrow says will keep Michael tethered to this world.

It feels like I've been walking forever when I catch sight of something clearly manmade protruding from a white mound. A solitary wooden beam no thicker than my arm leans in the snow; too weathered and splintered to be any sort of sign left by Michael. As if he'd leave any such thing for me, anyway? Steam rolls off my lips as I narrow my eyes and look around. Another beam is not too far away and as I make my way towards it I see another, then another until I find myself following what appears to be the remains of a handrail.

The toe of my boot connects with a fairly solid surface that makes the faintest creaking noise. It doesn't take long for me to recognize the structure of a staircase, or more like the _skeleton_ of a staircase leading up and winding around a steep mountain. Having no other leads to follow, with Michael's tracks swept away by chilly gales, I sigh and carefully scale the steps. My ascension doesn't take long.

Snowflakes drift down now, lazy in their descent upon the deserted village that awaits me after the topmost step is conquered. The valley below me is hazy and white; the thin air compresses my lungs as I try to breathe easily. Maybe I should've taken my time traveling up the mountain, but I feel the pressure of my time constraints more forcefully now than ever when it becomes glaringly obvious that _no one_ has been to this place in ages. Michael couldn't possibly be here. I've wasted my time.

Hollow homes with their doors ajar await my inspection but I know it'd be pointless. Frustration builds up inside me like a painful ball in my chest but I push it away. I have no time to waste and just as I'm about to make my way back down the steps, a movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. It was a man! I'm positive. Dark hair and pale skin was all I could catch a glimpse of before he ducked behind a weather-torn door about five houses away near what I can only assume was once the village's main square.

I'm at the door of the house before I can even register my own movements. Carefully, I squeeze through the gap in the door and enter the desecrated home. Everything is caked in snow, the windows having long been busted open. Oddly enough, a table is set beneath that thick layer of white and the entire house looks as though it is literally frozen in time. It's unsettling. I can only imagine the comments Mina would make. She'd probably ask to wait outside and wouldn't even wait for a response before bolting and I can't say I don't feel like doing the same.

There's no sign of anyone despite what I saw.

"Michael?"

No response.

My eyes narrow as I try to detect some form of life in this damn place. Pristine white covers every surface, giving me no hint. Not a single thing has been moved in a long time and I curse myself for letting my own mind play tricks on me. But I could've _sworn_ that I saw a man! He had dark hair like Michael and from afar he roughly fit the bill. I must be so desperate for this wild goose chase to end that I'm already giving myself false hope.

With an agitated sigh, I make for the door but stop dead in my tracks. At the foot of the door, just beneath my own footprints, is a barely noticeable trapdoor. I never would've seen it were it not for my own tracks scuffing up some snow to reveal a shift in the old floorboards of the house. Quickly, I brush away more snow and confirm that I haven't gone bat shit crazy. The little notch in the floor to lift the panels proves this to me.

I pull out a dagger, stick my finger in the notch, and lift the door up. I'm met with absolute darkness with the sun only casting light on a few unstable looking steps. Admittedly I'm reluctant to go down there seeing as how it's dark as night and I don't know what awaits me in those depths. Steeling my nerves and clearing my mind, I carefully descend the steps on light feet. Surprisingly enough, there aren't even enough steps to constitute a staircase.

"Michael?" I try again once my feet are firmly planted on the ground.

A hiss sets my nerves on edge before I'm temporarily blinded by a bright, warm light. Once my eyes adjust, I see an odd man standing before me and he definitely _isn't_ Michael. He's too short, too thin, his features look too haggard and his nose is too long. I'm certain he's much older than the boy with his abundant stubble but he can't be too much older. Maybe thirty? And his long, wild jet black hair isn't anything like the dark brown hair Michael has. Dark, bitter chocolate eyes stare me down and I'm hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. I feel as though I've seen this man before.

The light from the fire illuminates dozens of assorted weapons and shields all lined up haphazardly against the walls. The walls of the small room look to be layered with some bizarre looking greenish metal. In fact, all of the weapons have the same odd green sheen to them. I've never seen weapons like these before. They're all rather intricate looking but warped at the same time with curved lines and jagged edges. They look as though they can easily cut through anything. This puts me even more on edge.

Just as I'm about to speak, I feel a twinge in the air. It's something I've felt many times before and it doesn't take me long to associate that feeling with Mina and Michael. Unfortunately for me, the man seems to feel it as well because he moves his torch forward like a weapon and his eyes narrow into two glittering slits. The ferocious look on his face makes his eyes appear even darker than before, almost black. A pulse of energy crackles through the air as we stare each other down.

"Who are you?" We ask in unison.

His lips twitch but not with humor. "Answer me."

"My name is Steven Kiriyama. I'm looking for a boy."

"Boy?" His eyes narrow even more. "There's no boy here. Get out."

"Who are you?" I ask evenly, ignoring his threatening tone and the way he swings his torch at me once more like I'm a bear or something.

"No one."

"It's only polite to give me your name."

"I said no one!"

His voice is far too loud for the small space and I have to keep from cringing as my eardrums pound. I'm about to press the question when I see him rip a strip of cloth from his ragged blue tunic and before my very eyes, the tattered cloth shimmers before stiffening and elongating into a twisted dagger with the same weird green tint as the rest of the room. The muscles in his arm twitch and I know what he's going to do before he even does it. The part of the room I'm in is too narrow for me to dodge; my heels dig into the bottom step of the staircase but I won't be able to climb them in time.

"Out!" He yells.

As if in slow motion, the dagger goes whizzing through the air towards my face. My blood burns as I lift my hand to block the dangerous blow but it never comes. I didn't even realize I had closed my eyes until I open them and see the strange man's shocked face. A soft sucking noise, like a vacuum, catches my attention and I see right before my hand is what looks to be some sort of hole in the air. I'm reminded of a science magazine I had read when I was a kid. It had fanciful drawings of planets and black holes. This looks _exactly_ like a black hole. My hand drops down to my side in shock and the hole disappears with a somewhat comical pop.

We're both dead silent for a moment.

"Now," I say with false levity even as my heart continues to thud painfully, "who are you?"


	30. Gouge Away

**21\. Gouge Away**

Shaking fingers are snagged by my pack's tangled laces. I pull at them in aggravation and they only tighten uncomfortably around my fingers. With a soft swear I rip my hands from the bag and glare up at the two men who I know to be staring at me. Varric had seemingly gone back to sleep after asking me if I was sure about leaving. He seemed disappointed, which was an incredibly painful experience; having _Varric Tethras_ ashamed by my lack of commitment to this journey. So, it was a mercy on his part that he simply went back to sleep- a quiet promise that he would think nothing of me and would say nothing about me when the men continued their quest.

But the others? They've been watching me, waiting. I know that something must have happened when I was sleeping, other than that little outburst of mine. Otherwise, why would they still be staring? Well, I can think of many reasons why Hawke would be staring. Many, many reasons why he would be glaring me into oblivion. The first being that I'm planning on ditching him and the others after he specifically sought me out for this job and continually asked me if I was _positive_ that I wanted in on this endeavor. And the second is that he probably wants to rip me a new one.

I know that I'm being irrational right now. I'm feeding into Carrow's little gibe about "sentiment" making me a fool. But it wasn't a coincidence that Kiriyama dropped in to talk to me _personally_ and then started behaving so strangely, as if he shouldn't have done it at all and was regretting it. For someone who is usually so blunt to suddenly be so evasive? To dance around my incessant, badgering questions about Summoned and "the boy?" I knew he'd been hiding something all along. I just never would've guessed that it involved my own brother. Anger flares, hot and uncomfortable in my gut.

"What is it?" I ask impatiently after neither Hawke nor Anders says a word. In an instant I'm being pulled aside by Anders who was nearest to my napping post. His musty elfroot and health potion cologne bleeds into the cool dampness of the Deep Roads, mixing in with the abundant odor of earth and lichen. It must be daylight out on the surface because greenish light filters down on us as he pushes me to the side of a great stone staircase; out of sight of Hawke and the sleeping dwarven rogue. I realize that if we speak in hushed tones, neither one of them will be able to hear us. Of course it's safe to assume Anders knows this. Otherwise, why the annoying need to get me alone?

"I need you to do something for me." Anders' warm breath brushes against my cheek. Oh, _of course_! It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy here! Everyone wants something from someone and I just  _knew_ I messed up the second I revealed part of my secret to Anders when he refused to tell me how he'd call in the favor. But he _already_ called in his favor. We cut even a long time ago. But of course he's going to call in a favor again because he has the upper hand here. I'm the one with the awful secret, not him.

I frown. " _No_. Tit for tat- we're already even. Remember?" Arms cross over my chest as I teeter back on my heels to put a bit of distance between us. "I kept my eye on our Dalish comrade just like you asked. You already called in that favor of yours."

Honeyed eyes narrow. "I've kept what you are a secret from everyone else despite them knowing about Justice."

 _What I am? As if he even knows the half of it... Well, to be fair, as if_ I _know the half of it._

"And that's my problem how?" I hiss, " _I_ didn't expose you. You did that to yourself, pal. Besides, you're the big bad mage, why can't you do things on your own for a change? If I had the power to turn people into ice I'd be doing it left and right!"

"This isn't funny, Mina. And you won't distract me so easily."

"I know. I was being serious."

"Mina."

I sigh. He's not about to let me shake him off. Anders is like a dog with a bone sometimes. Well, most of the time… _All_ the time. Anders is as close to a zealot as I'm comfortable with and even then I often find myself uneasy in his company when he gets started on his whole mage agenda. He always gets this sort of manic look in his eye that screams desperation, but at least right now, in this moment, he only looks frustrated and confused. So I'm not _as_ uncomfortable as I could be with my back pressed against cool stone and a feathered mage blocking my only exit like a giant bird. I click my tongue and look off into the darkness behind him. "What is it, Anders?"

"Tell me why you're leaving. I thought you _wanted_ to go on this trip. Why the sudden change of heart?" My eyes dart back to his face to find him looking more frustrated now than confused. He's probably reevaluating all the previous thoughts he ever had about me and the judgments he made of me. I'm sure if he ever held me in high esteem before, the same can't be said now. I would like to come across as someone with a heart, but that thought doesn't bother me when I think of all I stand to lose by continuing on this journey.

The loss of Anders' favor isn't comparable to the loss of someone I love. This thought doesn't bother me. "I forgot I had a previous engagement," I lie through my teeth, eyes boring into his. He doesn't take the bait. Obviously. He steps back with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. Not a glare, but a frown, so I know that I haven't angered him, per se. I've _disappointed_ him, which is far worse since now I'm in for a lecture instead of the silent treatment. Gosh, I'd do anything for the silent treatment now. Funny how I wanted him and Hawke to say something not even ten minutes ago and now I'd like nothing more than to hear dead silence.

_Prepare for a tongue lashing._

"I mean, really. What had you so disturbed? A nightmare? Was it..." Anders lowers his voice even more and I have to lean forward to where our foreheads nearly touch, "the blood mage?"

I reel back and sputter in a pitchy voice, " _Wh-_ _Wh_ _at?_ "

His eyes glint. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"No." I growl as I regain my composure, "It was just a dream that had me flustered. But that dream has absolutely _nothing_ to do with why I'm leaving." We stare at each other; each waiting for the other to relent. I silently damn us both for our iron will.

"Anders! Mina!" Hawke's booming voice calls from the camp. Anders and I blink before we share a look. I try to convey through my eyes alone that he'd better not speak a word of this to Hawke. Anders had better hope that he doesn't breathe a word of the damn blood mage and my previous affiliation with him to our dearest leader. For the sake of what? For the sake of keeping a damn promise, that's what. But I have a feeling that our little promise doesn't hold a candle to whatever loyalty Anders has to Hawke. Which isn't entirely reprehensible, honestly. Hawke has done so much for Anders and all I've done is "spy" on Merrill (which I didn't really even do, _so_...).

Anders and I make our way back to the camp where I immediately set to work on rolling up my bedroll and attempt to strap it onto my pack. That same eerie feeling of being watched that I got earlier rears its ugly head and I sigh before plopping onto my rear from my crouched position. A little electric bolt shoots up my spine from the impact. I glare at my knapsack for a moment before turning my gaze onto the magical duo. Anders is fidgeting with the end of his coat and Hawke is staring at me shamelessly. Those golden eyes blink slowly before turning onto Anders. Warm amber eyes meet piercing gold and Anders frowns before stating rather reluctantly, "You were using blood magic, Mina."

"Uh. What?" My tongue feels fat suddenly. "I did what? I mean… _What_?"

_Real eloquent, Mina. You're a regular Miss America._

This time Garrett speaks as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, "You were using blood magic in your sleep. I can only assume you were using it to communicate with another blood mage, seeing as how there was another presence with you. Either that or you were summoning a demon." His eyes dart to and fro as if to confirm something. "Which _obviously_ was not the case."

Another blood mage? He said "another," didn't he? That's implying that he thinks _I'm_ a blood mage! My God, if people want to string up apostates in general, you won't believe what they want to do to blood mages. Being accused of being a maleficar is grounds for the Maker to smite you on the spot. Actually, what would more than likely happen is that a Templar would claim that you're an abomination and then lop your head off in the name of the Maker, but that's beside the point. No mage wants to be accused of using blood magic and no "normal" person like myself wants that burden lain on their head. It's basically a death sentence.

"I'm not a mage and I sure as hell am not a _blood_ mage!" I spit, getting to my feet and slinging my packed bag over my shoulder. "But if accusing me of such ridiculous things makes you feel better about the fact that I'm leaving, then so be it."

"Why _are_ you leaving?" Anders presses, looking a bit wary as he glances between Hawke and myself. That shifty little look is all the warning I get before he states, "You were yelling at someone named Carrow about your brother, that much I'm certain of, but I didn't even know that you _had_ a brother." Something in his eyes glints as he stands and I sorely wish I had the ability to teleport like Kiriyama. "Is it him that you were talking to? The mage you told me about before?"

_And under the bus I go._

The moment he says it I flinch and I know that I just gave myself away. Damn it all. I don't even have to look at Hawke to know that he's oozing with suspicion, but at least now I'm not alone under his burning gaze. Thanks to Anders' mouth and insatiable curiosity, he's landed himself in hot water right next to me. We've both been keeping this secret from our noble leader and Garrett Hawke isn't one for treachery in his own ranks. Sure we haven't harmed anyone with our closed lips, but Hawke likes knowing everything about everyone.

Although Hawke is simply as sweet as a peach with strangers (at least during the first encounter) and chummy with pals, all of that can disappear in a heartbeat if he feels like he's being deceived. His family is his top priority, so he can never be too careless. Once, he slashed open a man's throat with a concealed dagger just after exchanging a few laughs like some two-faced lunatic. It was only after I questioned Isabela as to why he did it that she explained to me that the man was obviously lying about keeping Hawke's apostate-ness a secret even after we did a job for him.

So, it wouldn't be _too_ out of character for Garrett Hawke to turn me into a scorch mark right now. But Hawke likes Anders considerably more than he likes me despite their differing opinions on the Circle; so if the cute blond plays his cards right, he might live to see the sun again. Me? Not so much. I'm shit out of luck. Like I said, I'll probably be turned into nothing more than a black smudge on the porous stone if I don't answer any questions Hawke might have for me to the best of my ability, or if he even _thinks_ I'm lying to him I'll be a goner. Again. I'm already on thin ice for hiding that I've been running from a powerful blood mage.

_Just get it over with._

"Yes," I murmur after the silence has dragged on for far too long, making me look guiltier and guiltier. "Carrow is the mage I told you of. He has my brother so I need to get to him immediately."

That last part is a lie but it isn't much of a stretch. Carrow may not have Mike, but I'm pretty damn sure he knows where he is if he's able to keep such wonderful tabs on Kiriyama and myself. Even though the mage can easily overpower me with his magic, I won't rest until I beat or otherwise coerce Mike's whereabouts out of him. Besides, I've actually grown stronger and I'm sure I could try to compel a Templar or some beefy warrior to take the brunt of Carrow's magical attacks for me. Awful, I know, but right now my baby brother's safety is higher up on my list of concerns than the well-being of some hypothetical person I've yet to meet.

Anders turns his body _just so_ as if to shield himself from Hawke's dagger-glare before stating firmly, "He's baiting you, Mina. How are you certain that he even has your brother?"

"I have it on good authority that Carrow did the exact same thing to my brother that he did to me." My lips move numbly as I try to speak in code. I can't outright say that he resurrected my brother but I also can't say that my blood was used to bring him here from another world. Well, I _could_ say these things but the men would probably think I'm nuts. "I can't waste any time." I reluctantly meet Hawke's gaze. "I'm sorry, really I am, but some things are more important than treasure."

It's still shocking. It was a bit of a shock when Kiriyama first told me that he participated in the summoning of another person, but I quickly got over it because I was convinced he was bullied into it by pushy, violent Dermot Carrow IV. But now? My opinion of the pretty man has been turned on its head. That pretty bastard was able to lie right to my face the whole time we were together and I was none the wiser. I'm a fool. The biggest fool because even now I'm worried that my brother will kill him or he'll kill my brother; someone I love will kill someone I care for. My stomach twists painfully with anxiety and I smother a groan.

_Please don't panic-puke. For the love of all that's good in the world. You should've grown out of that by now!_

"What did this Carrow do to you?" Hawke asks bluntly.

My projectile-panic-puke session is put on pause. With wide eyes, I flounder for a believable lie and titter, "He-He uh…"

"She was killed and then he resurrected her as his thrall," Anders says for me and I want to punch him in the mouth.

"Snitches get stitches," I hiss to which I'm met with a funny look from the blond.

"You were dead," Hawke states and I grimace at that little fun fact, "and you were then resurrected by a blood mage. For what purpose?"

"Oh, just to destroy the Circle of Magi in Ferelden, nothing big." I shrug, still frowning at Anders for ratting me out so easily. Sure, our friendly brunet mage knows Anders' not-so-secret secret, but that doesn't or _didn't_ mean that I was all right with Garrett Hawke knowing mine. I could have lived a perfectly fine life sheltered behind my wall of lies. But Anders had to go and ruin it by forcing me to tell the truth for once in my miserable existence. Funny how I was an upstanding citizen back home but here it takes a mage to bully me into being moral. God, how depraved have I become where lying is practically my day job? When treachery and deceit are carved into my moral code?

What _moral code?_

"Why?"

"Huh?" I respond smartly.

"Why did he want you to destroy the Circle? What would make him believe that _you_ could do such a thing?" Hawke questions.

_Hawke, why do you have to be so smart?_

Anders looks relatively bewildered for his part and I can only guess that he never thought of that question himself. Of course he wouldn't have. The only thing that probably stuck out to him was "destroy the Circle" and I'm sure that's an endeavor he would back up wholeheartedly. Not that Anders would ever stoop to using blood magic. Behind Anders I see Varric stir awake and I curse my rotten luck. Of course Varric would wake up like clockwork for his shift, which just so happens to be now, of all times, when I'm about to spill my guts.

The dwarf looks surprised to see that I'm still around but his brow furrows the instant he sees the severe look on Hawke's face. "Anyone care to fill me in on this little showdown?"

_Might as well just lay everything out there already…_

"I was using blood magic in my sleep which led to an interesting conversation." I smile tersely at the rogue. "Basically I was dead once but was resurrected by a deranged blood mage who now has my brother."

"Interesting indeed."

I snort, "Tell me about it."

"I guess you really are lucky then, eh?" Varric gives me a smile that honestly probably means way too much to me right now. "Not everyone gets a second chance at life."

_And that's why you're my favorite, Shortcake._

"But it isn't that simple," Anders interrupts. "This mage, Carrow, obviously has some sort of hold on her and she is essentially his thrall. He can do whatever he likes with her." He turns to Hawke. "Didn't you ever notice that if you use strong enough magic on or around her, it turns her into a blithering idiot?"

"Excuse me?" I gawk.

Garrett shrugs. "I didn't know you had to use _strong_ magic for that to happen."

"Ha ha. You're _so_ funny," I hiss before glaring at Anders. "What's your point?"

"It shows that you can be influenced by magic, but only magic of a specific type. I think it's a safe bet to assume that it's blood magic that can control you since it's blood magic that sustains you."

_Why does that statement rub me the wrong way?_

"I'll say it again, then. Interesting." Varric offers me a smile but I can tell that he's not as comfortable as his expression would suggest. "This will certainly make for an intriguing story night at The Man."

"Will you answer my question?" Hawke's voice cuts through what little levity Varric was able to conjure up and I cringe.

"What question?" Varric asks, eager to be caught up to speed.

"Well, Carrow thinks that I can destroy the Circle because…" I trail off uneasily. Although Isabela was relatively chill when she found out about my power, I think that had to do with the fact that she a.) really likes me and b.) that power saved her butt. Hawke doesn't like me- that's as plain as day. And I haven't ever used my ability to benefit him or anyone else in any way. So, I don't know how he's going to react. Shooting Hawke a guarded look I say, "Because I have the ability to control minds. You know… _compulsion_."

The mage sighs irritably, "I already know that. Now, what else would make him think that you have the ability to bring down the Circle other than your compulsion?"

_Wait. Why isn't he surprised?_

"What?" I ask stupidly, "You _knew_?"

"Of course I knew. You use it all the time. It's rather obnoxious."

"She does?" Varric and Anders ask.

"She uses it on Carver when she's bored and tries to use it on Merrill but it never works." Hawke fixes Anders with a curious look. "You never noticed?"

"Well, I…" the blond stammers with a blush, "I'm hardly ever around both Merrill and Mina or Mina and Carver at the same time. She's never tried to compel me before, as far as I know."

"Yeah, they both avoid him like the Taint," Varric taunts before squinting at me. "Hm. Didn't know you were so manipulative, Lucky. Maybe I should change your name."

"Hold on." I raise my hand. "I'm still stuck on you knowing about my ability to compel people, Hawke. How come you never mentioned it?"

He shrugs. "I thought that maybe you were using an enchanted item like your sword or your cowl. It isn't unheard of for people to have some sort of enchantment on their person to enhance their fighting skills. As a smuggler, it seemed a reasonable spell for you to have. I just didn't know that it was _you_ doing the compelling until you started dreaming. Then it became rather obvious."

"Oh." Silence soon follows my monosyllabic response. Y'know, I always knew Garrett Hawke was a perceptive little shit but I didn't know he was the Sherlock Friggin' Holmes of Thedas. Compared to him, I basically have the IQ of a goldfish. Then again, I didn't grow up having to be sneaky and perceptive because I didn't have people hunting me down and trying to lock me in an impenetrable tower. Guess growing up an apostate has its perks.

"Stay with us a little while longer," Hawke says to my complete surprise. "We were going to head back to the main camp after everyone got their rest, anyway. You will have less of a chance of getting lost that way."

_Damn. That's smart._

"All right."

* * *

I'm awoken by a booted foot nudging me and am irritated to find that it belongs to my favorite dark-haired mage. He doesn't say a word and neither do I as I get up and gather my things. Just as I finish, the group makes to leave the new passageway to head back to Bartrand and his crew. We were successful in finding an alternate route which means that my dropping out is the only shameful news that we'll bring. This makes me feel _oh so special_. The walk back to the main camp isn't really so quiet like I had expected. In fact, Hawke and Varric do a copious amount of talking about pretty much any topic you can think of from battle strategies to farming tips. The only sign of social strain is the little fact that neither one of them addresses me or Anders.

My shunning is something I can understand and I don't necessarily think Varric is ignoring me; just keeping Hawke blissfully distracted for all our sakes. But I can't for the life of me fathom why _Anders_ is being lumped with me in the Untouchables section of our group. Maybe because he aided me in keeping my secret, he's considered a traitor as well? Not that he kept my shady past a secret for very long, mind you. I suppose his loose lips couldn't save him from Hawke's passive aggressive wrath. Like I said before, I completely understand Hawke's anger since I lied to him.

 _Well, I didn't_ really _lie._

I kept everything about myself (all of the grim, juicy details) under wraps until prompted for information. Hawke _could've_ learned of my little journey through hell if only he'd asked sooner. And I can confidently say that I _would've_ told him all of that about myself because Garrett Hawke is… Someone I can trust, despite his annoying nosiness and bad habit of preaching to me about my lifestyle choices. Why can I trust him? Because he gives me jobs and opportunities to better myself. And he watches over me. My God. Garrett Hawke has been _taking care_ of me practically since we first met. Giving me food, a job, _shelter_ on occasion. This revelation makes my insides squirm uncomfortably as I realize just how much of a slap in the face my betrayal must be to him; the man who has given me everything.

I'm just the worst kind of person. Especially since this unsettling feeling of disgust with myself isn't nearly enough to shake me from my quest. Self-loathing is a feeling I've grown accustomed to since living in this damn world and that's something I want to protect Mike from. Really, I want to protect him from lots of things. "I suppose we've done it this time," I say cheerfully to Anders if only to distract myself from my thoughts.

The blond glances at me through the light of his torch before answering gravely, "I suppose we have. But I didn't think that hiding your origins would be considered such a treasonous act by Hawke considering everyone in his inner circle has some sort of dark past."

_So it isn't just me, then?_

A frown creases my brow. "So, why am _I_ being hung up to dry? At least I'm trying to move past my, well, past. Afraid I can't say the same for others."

"Like Fenris?"

Mmm-hmm. Anders, King of Pettiness _would_ go there. I'm not surprised that Fenris is Anders' first thought when I mention emotional growth since the two are sworn rivals. The white-haired elf certainly is caught up in his past; waiting in an abandoned mansion for his ex-master to show up so the elf can exact his revenge. Fenris is so consumed by revenge and yet Hawke finds nothing wrong with that. At least Fenris didn't keep his motives secret, I guess. Fenris was always very upfront about his agenda (our first meeting aside) and I have to give the elf props for that. I can't fault him in the wake of my own ousting. He's still nobler than me.

I shrug and turn my gaze forward, suddenly feeling ill. "I'm not naming names."

It takes a while to get back to snooty Bartrand and the days go by like molasses dripping from a spoon in the dead of winter. Guilt makes time freeze and I'm forced to take it agonizing day by agonizing day. I haven't felt this much crippling guilt since I first killed someone. That highwayman's face is still burned into my memory along with the haunting sounds of his death; but the pain I felt then is nothing compared to what I feel now. It's as though my stomach is filled with glass and my brain has turned into an angry swarm of bees. I can't eat, I can't sleep for the buzzing of my own worthless promises to Hawke and company reverberating in my head.

Like a zombie I stand and stare blankly as Hawke approaches Bartrand. Everyone looks happy, excited for the opportunity to continue with the adventure, but I can't feel those things. Those emotions are so foreign to me now after days of feeling like scum and dreading the moment Hawke decides to finally confront me. I know it's coming. It has to be. Garrett Hawke isn't one to ignore something as big as my deceitfulness. Hell, he gave me a hard time for accidentally getting charred by a dragon and trying to cover it up. I can only imagine what he'll do about my purposeful duplicity from the get-go of our employer-employee relationship.

Unable to stick around any longer when I hear Hawke telling the elder Tethras that I will no longer be joining them on their mission, I slink away to hide. I'm a good distance away from the main camp and I'm already finding myself in a bit of a predicament. I can either stay in a cold, unused passageway until the group continues with their quest, or I can walk the long distance between my hidey-hole and the tunnel that leads out of the Deep Roads. I'm not nearly shameless enough to march right through the camp with a "Screw you guys, I'm out!"

"May I speak with you?" The dark-haired mage asks seriously, seemingly appearing from out of nowhere in front of me and gesturing toward the exit I was just gazing longingly at.

I jump. "S-Sure. I mean, of course!" Uneasily, I follow him to the exit. The mouth of the cavern we're in seems darker than the rest of the Deep, if that's even possible. I'm sure we're quite a sight though, although I'm not exactly sure who would be able to see us and remark on how odd a pair we are; a statuesque mage donning a haughty expression staring in the general direction of a mousy smuggler with a tarnished silver tongue. I stay on my side of the pathway, toeing a loose pebble until I realize it used to be someone's metacarpal, then I resort to playing an '80s song in my head over and over until something happens.

And that something is Hawke's penetrating voice breaking through the silence. Mouth agape, I stare at him in the dim orange light that washes over us both from the far-off camp. "If you leave now, I cannot allow you to come into contact with any of the others; either on accident or otherwise. They will surely try to come to the Deep Roads on their own and that would only cause trouble for the rest of our company."

I grunt uncomfortably and distractedly run my gloved hands against the cavern wall behind me. "Listen Hawke, if I could avoid leaving I would. It pains me to leave you all down here one sword short, so what's to keep me from informing at least Isabela that you need aid? She doesn't have any commitments; she's capable enough and won't make a fuss so long as she gets her cut of the loot."

_If I can find her._

He stares at me for a moment and in that brief amount of time I fear that he might drop the whole charade of civility and sock me in the mouth. No one would see, so it couldn't possibly tarnish his reputation. I wouldn't be above such behavior if someone had just betrayed me the way I betrayed him, or the way I'm prepared to betray him. But Hawke and I are different animals. That much I've known from the start of our relation- friendsh- whatever the hell _this_ is. Usually our differences annoy me, but now I'm sort of thankful. If Hawke was like me, I would have a mouth full of blood and maybe I would be one tooth short. And if I was more like Hawke, I wouldn't be abandoning my duties for a dream...

"All right," Hawke replies curtly and I fight back a sigh of relief. "But don't actively seek her out."

_Ugh. There's always a catch with this guy._

"Define _actively_ seeking someone out," I drawl before pursing my lips.

He sighs but somehow I know he isn't irritated. He knows that for whatever reason I'm just trying to draw out this interaction between us for as long as I can before we part. Maybe I'm not the only one with this unsettling feeling in my gut that this is going to be the last time we see each other for a long time, maybe forever. And although he annoys the hell out of me, I've come to think of Hawke as someone I can count on. Which is a heck of a lot more than I am to him.

"It means that I do not want you going to Lowtown, entering The Hanged Man, knocking on Isabela's door, and asking her to come down into the Deep Roads. If you happen to cross paths with her on your way to _wherever_ it is that you are going, that's fine."

"Ferelden!" I blurt. Even in the darkness I catch a glimmer in the mage's eyes. It's enough to make me cringe and pray for the cavern walls to swallow me whole. You'd think the Maker could at least grant his most pitiful child that one wish. But he doesn't. Instead, he leaves me to sleep in the bed I made for myself. In my head I chalk it up to him getting back at me for not being religious and for always being condescending towards his followers. I'd snub me, too.

"What?" Hawke asks rather slowly.

_Can't you keep anything to yourself, fool?_

"I'm going to Ferelden." I say in a gravelly voice, "The Frostback Mountains, specifically." Something Kiriyama had let slip, saying Mike had separated from him in the wilderness, of all the damn places.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Why not?"

"I don't need to know," the brunet mage replies coolly and his words actually sting a bit. I divert my gaze and pull at my cowl even though he can't clearly see what I do. It's a nervous tic I guess, when I'm faced with an uncomfortable situation that involves actual feelings. No one could possibly know how grateful I am for the darkness and all of the protection and privacy it allows at this moment as I stave off weird and surprising emotions. Why does him brushing me off bother me so damn much?

Sarcasm steps up as the first line of defense and I let myself fall into my usual bubble of flippancy. "Well, I figured you might want to know in case I never come back and my debt collectors start harassing you for payment. You can just point them in the right direction and they'll leave you be." I chuckle hollowly, "I'm really doing you a favor by giving you this information. _You're welcome_."

"Mina-"

I cut him off the moment I detect something off in his tone, "Good luck treasure hunting, Hawke. I'm off." And then I'm bounding down the path with those five words pounding in my head like an annoying song I can't shake. _"I don't need to know."_ I don't even bother backtracking to give Anders and Varric a formal farewell. That would mean going into the bright light and exposing my shame and I can't have that. I'm the shameless smuggler from Ferelden and I can't let that image get tarnished. That's what they'll all remember me as. I'm just the deserter who left them all for a disturbing dream.

_Enough with the pity parties._

The only sound I hear is that of my boots occasionally catching a displaced rock and the violent swearing that follows. Before the group made it back to the main camp, Anders had given me some directions so I wouldn't get lost and I kept chanting "left turn here, right turn there" in my head like some prayer. I must have messed up somewhere, though, because three days later and I'm still fighting my way through bastard spiders and the occasional pale-faced hellspawn that call this place home. I'm completely and totally lost.

"God, why?" I yell angrily when I stumble into a dead-end.

It's so incredibly dark in this particular part of the Deep Roads that I didn't see the craggy wall until I walked face-first into it and busted my lip open. Obscenities tumble from my mouth as quickly as blood pours from it and I fall to my knees to blindly fumble through my pack for something to stanch the bleeding and smother the metallic stench of fear. In my haste to leave, I stupidly didn't bring a torch. Heaven forbid I die in the Deep Roads from bleeding out from a busted up lip.

Gloves are pulled off so I can rely on my sense of touch to find salve or some sort of cloth. Fingers shake wildly as my paranoia reaches a new high. I can't help but think about what sort of creatures will be drawn to the scent of my blood. I vaguely recall some of the members of the caravan worrying about running into dragons down here. Knowing my luck, a dragon might catch a whiff of my blood, go _Mm-mmm!_ and set off to rip me to shreds over a bleeding mouth.

_Yes, with my luck that doesn't sound too farfetched._

As my efforts to find cloth grow more and more frantic, I hear a faint roar and almost start crying and blubbering like an inconsolable lunatic. Warm light fills the passageway and I whip around quickly, drawing my Lord and swinging him in front of me. The sight I'm met with nearly makes me drop dead on the spot. For a moment, I wish it was a dragon in front of me ready to make a meal of me. Even a horde of Darkspawn riding on giant spiders would be a more appealing sight. Anything but _this._

"It would behoove you to stop this quest while you still can."

"How the hell did you get here?" I croak, Slicer trembling in my hands.

Cold blue eyes drift lazily to my blade and I reluctantly lower my Lord and put him away. The blond mage smiles before beckoning me with one hand, his other preoccupied with holding a ball of flame. I can feel its alluring warmth from where I stand ten feet away but I don't move closer. A frown tugs at Carrow's cracked lips and he drops his outstretched hand to his side. We stare at each other for a while, surveying one another. His frown deepens and I know I look a mess. "Your mouth is bleeding."

"I know." I blush.

"Why?"

"You know, fighting and all that," I lie and he smiles politely.

"You walked into a wall."

"Why ask then if you already know so much?" I snap.

"At least I know you are feeling well enough to continue with your lies." He gestures more insistently for me to come closer and I obey with a heavy sigh. "As I said before, you ought not continue with your quest."

I'm about to fire off a snarky reply when he abandons the little fireball in his hand. I openly gawk as it floats in midair. I'm so preoccupied with staring at the miniature sun that I don't notice Carrow pull a dagger from his golden robes until he's slashing it across the back of his arm. Immediately the passageway is engulfed in the metallic stench of blood and decay and I recoil with a cry of disgust. Familiar, oppressive energy radiates off of the man and I find it hard to breathe. Not that I'd _want to_ with that terrible odor in the air.

Just as I'm about to cuss him out for randomly cutting up his arm, Carrow waves his hand and I feel as if someone has just sucker punched me in the temple with a flaming hot poker. Stumbling back, I grope for the wall and collapse to the ground. Everything spins wildly, my head throbs, my lungs ache, my throat constricts, and my face tingles with electricity. It's all over just as quickly as it started and I'm left gaping up at Carrow as he rolls his sleeve back over his newly scarred arm like he does this every day.

_What the hell was that?_

After sputtering for a few moments I finally vocalize that very thought. The sociopath simply nods toward me and says, "You are now healed."

Hands immediately slap to my face. "What?" Damn blood magic! I almost forgot about Carrow's ability to heal me with blood. It's absolutely revolting but admittedly handy, so it's no wonder Merrill is so defensive over her use of it. I'm on my feet in a heartbeat but that was a pretty bad idea. Everything sways like I'm standing on a ship at sea and I pathetically stumble forward into Carrow. Imagine my shock when I fall right through him and land on my knees. I think I stare ahead of me at nothing for a lifetime as my brain tries to register what just happened.

The gears in my head are stuck. "H-How?" I turn my head slowly to stare at the blood mage over my shoulder. "What _is_ this?"

He gazes at me tiredly. "This isn't a dream, if that is what you're thinking."

"Then how are you doing this? You aren't even here!"

"True, I am not. But our bond has strengthened so much- thanks to you allowing me to peruse the contents of your mind for so long- that I can spiritually manifest myself even when you are in a state of consciousness."

A humorless chuckle escapes me, "Well, aren't I the lucky one?" Just great. Now not only can the great Lord Dermot Carrow IV contact me when I'm asleep, but he can harass me when I'm awake, too. Not that his healing me wasn't rather convenient… it's just pretty apparent that this is going to get old fairly quickly. I let him into my head once and he invades my dreams thereafter and now _this_. It's like giving your phone number to someone because you feel bad for them and now they won't stop texting or calling and they just can't seem to take a damn hint. Carrow has seemingly no concept of boundaries. Too bad ignoring him in my head isn't as easy as ignoring a call.

"Yes." Carrow beams, "You are very lucky to be one of my progeny. Now, as I said several times earlier, I think it would be in your best interest to terminate your current quest. I only want what is good for you, my dear."

 _Good_ for me? Really? Was ripping me from my universe or dimension or whatever in my best interest? Was forcing me to live the life of some sort of mutant freak in my best interest? Funny, because in my previous life- my _good_ life- I never thought that becoming a monster that can infest the minds of unsuspecting individuals was in my best interest. In fact, I never even had it on my list of potential occupations. I never wanted to be this even when I was a child with dreams of fantasy. The most ridiculous thing I wanted to be was a mermaid and that was when I couldn't understand what constituted a viable occupation. "Carrow." I bite out after quelling most of my anger, "You can't possibly change my mind. I need to find my brother."

"And what?" He asks, suddenly very angry, "What could you possibly think to accomplish by confronting that boy?" Pale visage turns paler in anger rather than flushed. Blue eyes turn icier, harsher, and shrewder in their intensity. It's as though he seems to glow or the area around him grows darker. Either way, the sight is an eerie thing to behold. Carrow looks like a specter in his intricately woven robes and I notice for the first time that his hair of fine blond silk isn't just hanging in a curtain around his face.

It's as if he actually put forth effort into his appearance with his hair pulled into a tidy braid. He might actually look nice if it wasn't for that scowl. Angry Carrow is a frightening sight. I know before I said Angry Hawke was the single most terrifying thing I've ever encountered because he's such a powerful mage, but that was a lie. Carrow is equally as powerful if not more so than Hawke and Hawke would _never_ use his magic to harm one of his comrades. Carrow isn't subscribed to that particular loyalty program. He believes that physical and mental abuse is part of the package deal with "friends." And although I despise the fact that I'm in that category of comradeship, I'd hate to see what Carrow does to his _enemies_.

"I don't know what I'm looking to do, really," I admit quietly instead of blowing up with that last thought in mind. "But Michael is my brother and I have to take care of him. I can't let Kiriyama kill him... Or vice versa."

"Knowing that man, he will most likely choose to bond with the boy and risk death." Carrow replies exasperatedly, "For a practical man, he isn't making much use of his head in this particular situation. I must admit that time is of the essence."

Things would be so much easier if I knew exactly where to go, where to look. All I have to go on is "somewhere in the Frostback Mountains" and I'm certain it could take years to trek through an entire mountain range to find two people. An overwhelming feeling of hopelessness washes over me, drowns out Carrow's raspy voice as he drones on about Kiriyama's personality flaws and how the serpent man could never live up to the high standards the mage has for him.

I feel my head sink back to looking forward into nothing. Fathomless black greets me as my knees throb against the cold ground. I wish that I could teleport the way Kiriyama does. His power is far more useful than my hit-or-miss ability and I envy him for that. I also wish that I could know exactly where Mike is at the moment. That would make my job so much easier. I could just detect where he is, teleport to him and… then what? I don't even know what I'll do when I confront him. Carrow and Kiri have both been telling me that Mike is dangerous, so I don't know what I could possibly do without exacerbating the situation. But I can control my ability. Can't I? I should be safe… _Right?_

"Can you sense him?" I ask suddenly.

"Steven?" Carrow questions, sounding a bit peeved that I cut off his diatribe.

"No. My brother."

There's a frown in his voice, "No. I cannot."

Finally I stand and turn around to confront him. "Why not?"

Skeletal hands wave about listlessly, "I have yet to bond with him. As of this moment, neither has Kiriyama therefore I cannot possibly trace the boy's location."

Dammit. The _one time_ the creepy mage's tracking ability could potentially come in handy and he can't even use it. It never fails that things can't just be simple, cut and dry. There's always some long, drawn-out process for everything. But I might as well use the mage for something while he's here. Besides, I don't think it will take much convincing to get the blond weirdo to help me out considering he already knows that nothing is going to stop me from getting to Mike and Kiriyama. I like to think the mage is wise enough to know that it would be easier to simply humor me right now if he ever wants to "win me over."

I exhale through my nose. "Kiriyama. You can track Kiriyama though? Right?"

"Indeed," Carrow replies primly.

"Then tell me where he is."

Carrow tilts his head and his eyes drift to the ceiling of the cavern. Beside him the fireball bobs up and down in a slow, hypnotic motion. For a moment all of my fears are assuaged and I feel my muscles relax ever so slightly. There's a humming in the air as the energy around the blond mage pulses rhythmically and grows darker, blacker, thicker. Eyelids droop momentarily before everything goes still and silent. Breathing stops, for a moment I think my heart actually stops but that doesn't scare me like it should. There's a sudden snap in the air, like turning on a bright light in a dark room. Then I'm alert and very much aware that I'm in a lonely cavern with quite possibly the world's largest burden on my shoulders.

Icy eyes pierce me. "He is in the Frostback Mountains in a small, abandoned village. He isn't alone, though." Something akin to excitement flashes in his eyes. "There's another presence with him; a very strong one… an _unusual_ one."

My heart leaps. "Is it my brother?"

"No." He shakes his head fervently, brow furrowed. "No, it's not. The boy's energy is negative, draining. This one is... rejuvenating."

This information isn't exactly helping me. So Kiriyama made it to the mountains and he's alive? Okay, that's good news. But what's all this about another presence with him? And this presence seems to have garnered Carrow's interest, so something must be up. But it's not important, not right now. What's important is that I need to get to Kiriyama before he gets to Mike. I don't know what I'll do but I know for certain that I won't let either one of them kill the other. At least I can do _that_. At least I have some sort of game plan. Waltzing through Carrow, I swipe up my pack and strap it on before turning to the ethereal mage and snapping, "Since you're here, you might as well lead me to Kiriyama."

A fine blond eyebrow rises at my impudence. "And what, pray tell, do you expect to do when you find him?"

"I'm going to make sure no one dies, that's what I'll do."

Dead silence.

"Very well."

* * *

"We're still lost," I point out _very_ unhelpfully as I follow the floating mage.

Blank blue eyes glance back at me and I can honestly say that I'm surprised the psycho hasn't lost his patience with me. Seriously! He has a seemingly endless patience, what with how he doesn't blow up every time I pester him with questions about when we'll finally get out of this hellhole. He's actually been rather quiet. And I'm quite the fool for trying my luck with him, both with blindly following his lead and then badgering him. I don't know which decision is worse, though. Carrow replies calmly, "As I said exactly twenty-six times before, we are almost out of the Deep Roads."

"How do you know?"

"I can sense it."

I don't press him for an explanation even though I really, really want to. Instead, I busy myself with examining the dwarven architecture from afar. I don't dare step outside the ring of fireballs my little mage had conjured up when I complained earlier about the lack of light. Ten balls of flickering flames dance around us as we walk. Well, as I walk and he _floats_. When Carrow had conjured those balls of fire from thin air, I had curiously asked how the mage was able to perform magic, what with him being nothing more than a projection from my mind and my status as _not_ being a mage. The answer I received was more than a bit disturbing.

"Oh." He had replied casually as he watched his dear little fireballs jump to life, "I'm simply using you as a host of sorts. I'm channeling my magic through you which is why it can physically manifest itself whereas I cannot."

"Wait… You've _possessed_ me?" I asked, completely aghast.

"No, no." Carrow waved me off like I was a little fool before pausing contemplatively. "Well… Yes, I _suppose_ you can phrase it that way, though I cannot control your actions. I'm simply using your magical blood to perform magical acts. You yourself cannot use any sort of destruction magic, though. While I may be able to summon demons and heal you in this state, you are limited to your _own_ abilities, dear girl."

And that conversation bludgeoned to death any other questions I had for him for fear of receiving any more disturbing answers. Yes, I'm a total coward who can't or won't face reality. I now know that I opened myself up to a world of trouble with Carrow by allowing him into my head the very first time and I'm sorely paying for it. Well… Not _yet_. So far the mage has been surprisingly helpful what with obliterating the occasional Darkspawn and serving as my guide out of the Deep Roads. And it actually feels better to not be lost alone. Funny. Never in a million years did I ever think I would come to appreciate Carrow's company.

Said mage's orotund voice comes crashing through the oppressive silence of the Deep, "And there we have it, the exit from the Deep Roads and the path that will inevitably lead you to your doom."

"You mean Kirkwall," I reply sarcastically as I frown at the phantom mage, "but I understand how it can be easy to mix up the two." He isn't lying about the path, though. At the very end of the passageway is a light no larger than a pinprick but it looks like heaven to me. I hurry on without my magical guide, passing through the ring of fire without a second thought. Behind me I hear Carrow huff his disapproval before matching my pace. By the creepy feeling I'm getting, I can only assume he's looking at me.

Casting him a quick look I see that he is indeed shooting me furtive glances. With a sigh I tell him to say whatever it is that he has to say since he's going to say it anyway. "I will only prompt you this last time, my dear." The blond says gravely, "Do not pursue this endeavor, if not to obey my wishes then to preserve yourself."

I'm standing right at the opening out of this hellhole. A balmy breeze washes over me and I feel as though a great weight has lifted from my chest. I'm no longer God only knows how many feet under the ground. But all of my good cheer is reined in at the tone of Carrow's voice. I could probably be putting my life in jeopardy by seeking out Mike. I already know this and though the thought of dying (again) scares the hell out of me, I _have_ to find my brother. I couldn't live with myself if I simply let things sort themselves out.

Biting my lip I reply, "I'll only say it this last time, Carrow. I am going to find Kiriyama and I'm going to find Mike. You're going to help me even if you don't agree with my decision because we both know, deep down, that this has to be done." I shift from foot to foot uncomfortably at the weight of those words. "Now, I'm going to Kirkwall to tie up some loose ends and then you and I both are going to the Frostback Mountains."

When I turn, he's gone. My insides turn cold at the thought of losing my only way to track down Kiriyama, but then I feel a tingle atop my brain like someone is running a feather duster along the inside of my skull. "You speak the truth, Mina." Carrow's disembodied voice states rather flatly, "I'll be here with you. Go on to Kirkwall. As soon as you are ready, I will be your reluctant guide." His tone darkens and I suppress a shiver, "But when you ultimately find yourself begging for death at the hands of a merciless monster, do not say I didn't warn you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The trip to beautiful Kirkwall is a rather quick and painless one, not at all like the journey to and from the Deep Roads. I'm met with little resistance into the City of Chains thanks to the many pointers Isabela gave me on sneaking, and I manage to weasel my way into Lowtown where I stick to the shadows to avoid being spotted by anyone I know. When I'm positive that I'm in the clear, I bolt for The Man. Unfortunately, my rogue friend isn't in her assigned room (which I should have guessed, considering she's been missing for a while) and I'm now forced to push into the dirty crowds of the marketplace and head up into the "nicer" parts of Kirkwall.

Dusting myself off, I enter Hightown and try to look like I actually belong there. Thieves disguised as innocent little street urchins don't even give me a second glance, already knowing that I'm either too poor to rob or that I'll give them hell if they even attempt it. I've had a run-in with each and every one of them at least once and let's just say I tend to leave a lasting impression. Most of them think I'm batshit crazy.

Sauntering over toward the red-lantern district, I prop myself up against a stone column and cross my arms. With a critical eye I look around, trying to find any sign of my favorite pirate. A few young Templars scurry out of The Rose with pink cheeks and nostrils filled with the aroma of perfume and lust. I can't help but quirk an eyebrow at the sight. Even now it still seems rather funny to me that the Chantry's "holy army" has soldiers frequenting the cathouse. Tilting my head to the side, I eye an unabashed young man as he follows his fellow Templars. He looks rather familiar with that inky hair and peaches-and-cream complexion. Two ice chip eyes suddenly pierce into me and I'm rooted to the spot.

"Mina?"

Frantic, I try to find some kind of escape out of this hellish situation. It would be rather difficult to barrel over the guy and into The Blooming Rose, so _that_ isn't an option. I could pretend that I don't know him or that I didn't hear him, but he's already headed my way like a man on a mission. There's no way that I can simply turn on my heel and bolt back towards Lowtown like the devil is chasing me without drawing unwanted attention to myself.

Son of a gun. I have to do this, don't I? Plastering on a "pleasantly" shocked face, I address him. "Oh my goodness! Carver Hawke? Is that you?" I ask like a Southern belle at church after I've mostly recovered from my shock and accepted the situation. " _What the hell,_ _you little shit_ _!_ "

Okay, so I didn't completely recover from the shock of seeing the swordsman in Templar garb since I'm already swearing at him. Carver Hawke, brother to Garrett Hawke, is a Templar? A  _mage's brother_ is a _Templar_? Hold on, I must be in the Twilight Zone because that's the only explanation as to why Carver is decked out in the silver and blue armor of a zealot. Hawke is going to have the time of his life when he comes back home to find that his baby brother decided to really screw him over.

"When did you get back?" Carver asks slowly, eyes flicking up and down my figure, "Is my brother here?"

"The others should be back within a couple of days, actually," I reply evasively.

"And you? Why are you here then?"

"Oh, I got back just a little while ago. I had to return earlier than the others for some business." I try my hand at an aloof shrug but it comes off rather stiff and I just _know_ he didn't miss it by the hardening of his expression. "Your brother didn't mind, really, since he has everything under control. I sort of wish I had been able to stay a while longer to get a hero's welcome from all the people waiting on the group's return. Kinda wish _everyone_ had waited on the group."

He glowers. "What's that supposed to mean? You just left everyone in the Deep Roads for 'business.' I thought the Deep Roads Expedition _was_ your business. And now you come home early and decide to lecture me on loyalty?"

_Ouch. Burn. Quite a perceptive kid._

My lips twitch into a half-joking grin. "Wow, thanks for automatically jumping to the conclusion that I wronged your brother. I'm glad that you have such unwavering faith in me."

 _Hello? You_ did _wrong Hawke, you idiot._

Oh, shut up. I know I'm the world's biggest hypocrite but at least I didn't just align myself with the greatest threat to Hawke's well-being. Damn it all to hell and back! I know that Carver is a good kid, but… I'm torn between running back to Hawke and enlightening him on this latest development and trying to shake some sense into Carver. Even though he's all dressed up for bashing mage skulls, it can't be too late for him to get out of this, can it? How long does initiation take? Has he been hazed yet? For the sake of the Hawke family, I sure hope not.

Blue eyes narrow at me suspiciously as the newbie Templar crosses his muscular arms. "So you didn't backstab my brother by abandoning him in the Deep Roads when he needed you?"

"What's with the getup?" I evade and his glower deepens.

_Smooth._

"I'm a Templar now. I thought that much would be obvious, even to you."

I bristle. "Sorry, I'm just a bit slow when it comes to things like familial betrayal; I just needed you to confirm it for me. I didn't want to wrongly accuse you of doing something so despicable."

"Betrayal? That's rich coming from the likes of _you_ ," he spits, cheeks flushed and I feel my cheeks reddening as well. "This is something I have to do. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

I can see the tension in his tall frame. He was tense before I even spoke to him, so I know that he was already preparing himself for the inevitable showdown between us. We both know that we're confrontational people. We don't like to be talked down to, to be accused of doing something wrong even when we know that we're wrong. In that respect, we're very much alike. And very immature.

I'll readily admit that I can be a complete and total asshole. I know and see all of my own failings. But Carver? He's probably had his shortcomings shoved in his face since Hawke first showed signs of being an extraordinary individual. That's what makes me feel for the boy. That's what makes me treat him probably better than I treat the others. I admit that I favor him a great deal because I see a lot of myself in him.

I remember when I was once as insecure about my place in the world as he is. Sure, I'm still on shaky ground with the universe, but now, after having died once, I'm at least a bit more confident in myself because I know that I can bounce back from pretty much anything if I want to. Carver? He has yet to be tested and therefore he doesn't even know what he's truly capable of and _that_ is what makes him so troubled.

Still, knowing this, I can't help but snap back when he touches a nerve. I know that deep down he wants me to snap back, to confirm his suspicions that I'm not infallible like his brother, and to validate the hatred he probably feels for me right now. After he brings to light that my disloyalty is an easy thing to spot as if I'm wearing it on my sleeve, I'm more than happy to oblige. The look of contempt on his face mirrors what I feel for myself.

"Carver..." I pause, try to compose myself, "Would you kindly pull your head out of your ass and actually think about what you're doing? Your brother is an apostate. Your _brother_! This has to be the stupidest thing you've come up with to date! You're related to a damn apostate!" I grab his arm a bit too roughly. "You're walking right into the lion's den! Do you really think that everything is going to be all sunshine and roses there?"

"You see?" The younger Hawke seethes, blue eyes blazing as he shakes me off, "Everything goes back to my brother. Even with you."

"Okay..." I inhale deeply as I try to calm myself down once more. It's still not working, FYI. "Did you really only hear 'Blah, blah, blah, Garrett Hawke, blah, blah'? _Seriously?_ I'm worried about you!"

He growls, "I don't have to listen to this!"

I'm brushed aside like lint from a coat as the swordsman decked out in Templar armor storms away. I hurry to catch up. I practically tackle him as I throw myself onto his arm and refuse to let go even as he tries to shrug me off again. All the while he keeps glancing uncomfortably in the direction of his Templar buddies who are too busy trading stories about their latest experiences in the brothel to notice that their dark-haired friend is being accosted by some weirdo in a cowl.

_What? Am I cramping Templar Carver's style?_

"Carver!" My voice sounds so desperate and it even cracks at the end to my complete embarrassment. I feel as though I'm losing this kid. He's headed down the wrong path and there's nothing that I can do about it. But I'm trying. Damn it I'm _trying_. I won't let him ruin himself over petty jealousy or whatever the hell his reasons are for joining the side of the zealots. Heart pounding, I grip his arm and jerk him around to face me. He moves easily enough so I mistakenly think that he's willing to listen to me. "Please, don't do this!"

"Funny." He laughs bitterly, "You want to order me around for your own sake but you didn't even think twice about taking _my_ rightful place on the expedition."

"My own sake?" I guffaw, "Are you kidding me right now? Carver I'm doing this for _you_! You don't know what you're doing!"

He shakes me off once again and I let him. Standing there, I watch him go, knowing that there's nothing I can do anymore. Right now, this is all on him because ultimately it's his decision whether or not he follows through with this. His broad figure becomes smaller until he rounds a corner and then he's gone. Gone. I can't imagine what this will do to Hawke. Gosh, I can't even begin to imagine what Leandra must be feeling since now she has a child that she must protect from Templars and a child who _is_ a Templar.

Someone should show up right now and just punch me in the face because I probably made this situation even worse. Punch me hard, right in the nose. Then, they should spit in my face and rub it in; because that's pretty much what I did to Carver Hawke the day I left for the Deep Roads. He had his heart set on being "useful" and I undermined him. That's probably why he wasn't even willing to lend me an ear as I tried to be the voice of reason for once in my miserable life. I sigh and look up at the smoggy sky, "You idiot."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out another aggravated sigh before stalking back to The Blooming Rose, not even caring when I nearly topple over a dwarf. If Isabela isn't in that godforsaken place then she most likely already made her way back to The Hanged Man or maybe even my place. Damn. I should have checked my place while I was still in Lowtown. _Stupid_! Well, at least I'll be able to stock up on supplies before heading out to Ferelden… I just want all of this to be over with already.


	31. The Real Deal

**22\. The Real Deal**

My body practically hums with energy as I head back into Lowtown. Though Carver confronting me isn't exactly what I'd call a good thing, he's given me more incentive to get the hell out of Dodge. I no longer want to linger in a hostile place with nothing but hostile faces (Isabela and Merrill aside) so the swordsman really did me a favor. Yes, I know that it's horrible to look at only the bright side of our little spat, but if I dwell on it I'll only be doing Mike and Kiriyama a disservice by getting hung up on something that's already in the past. Besides, I have to head back to Lowtown since Isabela was nowhere to be seen in Hightown. Though it pains me to think this way, I might have to leave without even informing my favorite pirate of my intentions.

The familiar musk of sweaty bodies swathed in filthy linens fills my nostrils and I delicately pull my scarf up over my nose as I make my way against the current of Lowtown shoppers. A damp mustiness (a scent that I've now associated with the Deep Roads and Hawke) nearly chokes me and I decide right then and there that I'm going to change every article of clothing that I'm donning since I surely wreak of the dreaded Deep. It must have soaked into my pores since now it's all I smell, even as I rip my scarf from my face and gulp down muggy air.

Relieved and more than a bit tense, I find myself in the little quarter that my home shares with the Hawkes. The home of my employer seems more ominous now than ever. The stone façade looms over me, casting everything in shadow. My mind can't help but wander towards the well-being of Leandra Hawke. I can't help but think of my own mom as well. Despite my best efforts, my mind lingers for a bit too long and I find myself on the brink of tears before I have enough sense to shove the thought of both of those women now being alone into the furthest, most unused recesses of my mind. Chest tight, I force myself to buck up and get inside my house.

The door opens and closes promptly. Chest heaves, rises, holds for a moment, and then falls shakily. Running the back of my hand across my clammy forehead, I finally take the time to give my little home the once-over. Everything is tidy, neat, and too perfectly orderly with sharp lines and tucked sheets. It's obvious that Kiriyama got his mitts all over everything since even _I_ don't align all the chairs to be so straight. They're always turned a little to the left when I try to straighten them. The man is a robot. Thinking about him makes my stomach hurt.

Thinking about how I just let him walk away without pressing him harder for information... I'm getting exactly what I deserve, huh? And I'm not even being overly dramatic about it. Look at it like this: I _knew_ that there was still the threat of a powerful blood mage that I needed to handle. But what did I do? I went to work as a guard for smugglers. I pretended like what happened to me in Ferelden never even happened. Or tried to, anyway.

And then, after Kiriyama left, I let him stay gone even though I logically knew somewhere in the back of my mind that he'd gone to Carrow. _Where else_ would he have gone? After all those long, tired talks of not being able to find a place that felt far enough away from our abuser? _Of course_ he went back. Kiriyama found the strength to confront Carrow where I couldn't. In that time, I couldn't even bring myself to think about the mage without feeling terrified. So, naturally it followed that I wouldn't think to follow Kiri.

I have to admit, though, that I certainly gave the serpent more credit than he was due. When he said he'd helped Carrow summon someone else, I'd known what that meant: Blood sacrifice. It meant those heaps of limbs that I'd awoken to in this world. Yet I told myself that Steven Kiriyama _would never_. Subconsciously, I wrote that tidbit of info off and parceled it away where other uncomfortable thoughts are left to fester. It was better to pretend that he was still my moral superior. Somehow, it felt better not to think he'd still be a murderer. 

Fool that I am, I even defended him against Carrow even as I knew the brunet had been lying to me. I said Carrow had _bullied_ him. Bullied him into doing something so terrible just to give myself peace of mind, to be able to forgive him for ruining the life of someone I love. And why would I want to be able to forgive him? It's sick... Because even though I'm horrified about what's been done to my brother... I'm _happy_. I'm happy that I'll be able to see him again.

Self-loathing isn't a new feeling for me. But right now? The culmination of my inaction has had dire consequences and I'm _glad of it_. The walls of this deserted house feel like they close in on me with each passing second. Alone with my thoughts, I'm left to confront the fact that I'm not as upset as I should be by this turn of events. It's disgusting, disturbing. Blood rushes through my ears. Before I even realize what's happening my head is pounding and I've trashed the house.

* * *

"Wow. Did you fight another blacksmith in here?" An amused but worried voice asks. I jolt at the sudden sound. I hadn't even heard the door open, but then again that's no big surprise. I'm hunched over, picking through the wreckage for supplies. Am I going to bother to clean up? Hell no. I already blew the day away by skulking through Kirkwall and going Hulk on the house. I really don't need to make even more of an ass out of myself.

Behind me I hear Isabela rifling through some of my things like a raccoon in garbage, but I don't care. She can take whatever it is she's looking for. Besides, I owe her so much more than what I can offer from my belongings. "Ah-ha! Found it!"

Suddenly the room goes dark and my nostrils fill with the scent of wildflowers. Hands grope around and I yank the dark fabric off of my head before throwing the rogue a dirty look. "What was that for?"

The pirate juts her hip out. "Don't forget to bring extra clothes."

I frown. "Uh... Okay?"

"You'll have to go to the docks, so you know. Head for Gwaren. It'll be less crowded than Denerim if you're looking to avoid being spotted."

Dropping the scarf into my bag I finally stand. "Beg pardon?"

"You're leaving the Free Marches, aren't you? Not just Kirkwall? Take extra clothes because it's bloody freezing over there in Ferelden. That's why you need extra layers. For _layering_." She rolls those dark eyes. "I always knew you would. Go back to Ferelden, I mean. I just thought I would be the one to leave first."

Guilt spears my heart and I have to distract myself to keep from looking at the now reserved woman. I shove daggers into my belt and flick through little paper packets of poison in the safe box under my bed. Behind me I hear Isabela snort and I can only guess that it's because I color coded my poisons according to potency and wrote myself little notes about what each one does and what they're best suited for. The pirate always found my somewhat obsessive nature humorous considering there isn't much method to her particular brand of madness.

"So, you knew I was gonna leave?" I ask once I tire of the awkward silence.

A sigh grazes my ear, "You never came across as the type to leave so many loose ends and the mage is a particularly troublesome one for you, I'm sure. It was only a matter of time before you decided to take action."

"Okay, I'm leaving the country but I'm not going to kill the mage." I correct.

"Are you sure? That's... rather stupid."

My upper lip twitches as I secure my pack. "I know, but I couldn't kill that mage if I tried. He's powerful and remorseless; a deadly combination."

_Plus that psycho bitch could be listening in on this conversation. Still not too sure about how that works…_

"Oh? There's someone in this world that Wilhelmina can't beat? Not even with her dumb luck?" A smirk curves her full lips but I can't find the humor in her statement. I know she's referring to my ability, but she doesn't know Carrow like I do. And _oh_ , how I know him. My most frequent nightmare involves his hand in my chest and that loving little smile on his wicked face. The man tortured me and he loved, _relished_ , every second of it. Carrow never regretted it, never apologized. In fact, if you asked him, he'd say I had it all coming to me.

Blood boils, churns, pops in my veins. I can feel every ounce coursing, pounding through me as my throat constricts. Clenching my jaw, I pray that I don't puke or something. I wait until I'm calm before I look back at Isabela and when I do, she's giving me an indecipherable look. It sort of makes my hair stand on end, but I ignore the look and instead focus on the things I need to tell her. Taking a breath I say, "Cap, I need you to do something for me."

She quirks a brow. "Really? What?"

"Hawke is still in the Deep Roads." At this she opens her mouth but I press on, "I want you to go and help him with his trip. You'll get a good chunk of the loot so there's your pay from him. When I return, I'll bring you something pretty."

Again she smirks, "Something pretty? How about _someone_?"

I scoff but can't help but smile. "Will you do this for me?"

"Of course. I've got guaranteed pay."

"Good! Good." I sigh, relieved, "Do you know where to find him?"

Her lips purse as she looks at me from beneath her dark lashes. "Well, I _did_ happen to sneak a look at that map Anders had and couldn't help but notice a few roads were marked up…"

_Thank goodness for rogues!_

"Great! All right..." I pause uncomfortably as I shift the weight of my bag.

"Now we'll both be on our way," the pirate finishes for me.

I cough, "Right."

"Don't make it weird."

"I'm _not_ ," I snap, cheeks coloring.

Her dark eyes glitter. "Of course not. I'd better hurry, then." She nods her head toward me. "I'll see myself out."

With a lighter heart, I watch her go. Pinching the bridge of my nose, though, I prepare myself for the journey ahead. I'm sure it's already daylight out so I need to hurry to the docks to catch a ship out of here like Isabela suggested. I'm the embodiment of lightning as I bolt out of the house, not even bothering to lock up since I'm sure Isabela might need to crash here in case there's another issue with her room not getting cleaned at The Man.

A slight drizzle has started as I make my way to the docks. Cobblestones are turned slick as I slip and slide around corners, sometimes bumping into an irritable citizen who promptly swears about foreigners. For a moment I reflect on how funny that is; me being a foreigner and all. Even after being here so long, hanging around these people and doing jobs for them, I'm still someone who doesn't belong.

"You want the ship for Gwaren?" A toothy man asks.

"Yes!" I reply breathlessly.

Wide eyed, I look at the dinky little ship and my stomach does flips. The man had turned to talk to another guy (perhaps the captain) and I hear them mention something about the ship being overcrowded but that if I have the coin, one more body won't make a difference if the ship is fated to sink. Very reassuring stuff, but I hand over the money as asked. I can't be picky right now and it's not like I'm going to find a luxury cruiser at the docks or anything. With shaky legs I board the ship.

_Deep breaths. Deep breaths._

I'm like a little gremlin as I sit huddled in a corner below deck. It's mostly men and stoic women on this ship, all with the same subtle accent as the Hawkes that labels them as markedly different from the natives of the Free Marches and therefore untouchable. They speak of the injustices they faced back in Kirkwall, how they had no other choice but to head back to the motherland and salvage what they can of their previous lives. They're kind people, asking on occasion if I'm okay and not pushing any boundaries when I only give an odd noise of affirmation as the ship sways so roughly that I fear it may capsize.

The urge to rejoice the second my feet hit solid land is smothered as I remind myself not to draw too much attention. Sparse trees and even sparser grassland is all I see with people filling in the spaces. It's so incredibly crowded here with carpenters and blacksmiths working fervently. At first I think they're making weapons for travelers and the like until I take notice of the skeleton houses. I come across an overcrowded inn and a Chantry filled to bursting before concluding that these people are probably too afraid or wary of venturing past the docks and have simply decided to set up shop here.

Not that I blame them. I've deduced from the occasional conversation I've overheard that a few Darkspawn stragglers remain on the surface. And, lucky me, Ferelden seems to be the Land of Dragons based off of those very same concerned gossips. If anything, Ferelden is far more dangerous than the Free Marches. Slavers are a hell of a lot easier to bump off than dragons. Slavers don't have large teeth and can't breathe fire. Dragons? Well… A nerve pinches in my back and I sigh, "God, I hate dragons."

"You ever _see_ a dragon?"

Recoiling at the pitchy, gritty voice, I spin around to see a boy that appears to be on fire. His hair is highlighter orange and his skin- at least the parts that haven't been singed pink from the sun- is so white that it practically reflects light. Two critical green slits for eyes appraise me as a nearly lipless mouth arcs into a contemptuous frown. The boy, probably no older than twelve, wears breeches and a tunic that look about as comfortable as burlap and are dyed a faded red that clashes with his fluorescent hair. He seems to have been watching all of the people getting off of the ship. What is he? A cutpurse? 

"I have," I reply snootily as I cross my arms and eye the little cad.

"Really? You fight it?"

"Yes. And I won, obviously."

He snorts but doesn't turn away. "Where'd you come from? I seen you get off that ship." He gestures toward the docks but I don't look back. Those green eyes seem to have trouble deciding if they want to focus on me or the others. Definitely a troublemaker, this one.

"Kirkwall," I reply promptly as I begin to look around again. "Why so many questions?"

"Curious. You look weird."

I eye him distastefully and snap, "That's not very nice. I could easily say the same thing about you, you little pumpkin-headed punk." When he doesn't respond with anything more than a frown, I sigh and roll my eyes at myself for stooping to this kid's petty level. "Which way to the Frostback Mountains, lad?" I ask in a tight voice, trying and failing to sound polite. Don't know why I'm asking a kid this. Is there a tourist hub or a concierge I can speak to?

"Frostback Mountains? Why'd you wanna go there?" He asks incredulously, eyeing me up and down before his face lights up, "You're an adventurer, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I shrug.

"Are you goin' to slay more dragons?"

A harsh scoff leaves my lips, "Not if I can avoid it."

"Well, what kinda adventurer are you then? The kind that collects flowers 'n things for potions?"

I huff, already so damn tired of this meaningless and directionless conversation, "Just tell me where to go, boy."

" _Boy_?" He huffs as well, "Since you aren't a real adventurer I _presume_ you don't have a map then?" I shake my head and he gives me a superior look, "All right, follow me. My da used to be an adventurer and he has a grand ol' map. Sure he'll let you borrow it if ya promise to give it back."

_That's rather optimistic of him. Who's to say I'm not a lunatic?_

"Are you in the habit of trusting complete strangers?" I drawl.

Now he looks at me suspiciously, narrow green eyes narrowing further. His lipless mouth pinches before he quips, "No. Are you in the habit of takin' help from strangers?"

"Of course. I have an open death wish." I smile graciously at the boy's perplexed expression. "What's your father's name, by the way?"

"Matthias Lagrange. I'm Silas, so ya know. Silas Lagrange, at your service." Green eyes dart around for a second before the kid gives me a stern look. "And I was raised to be helpful to strangers, so ya know. I ain't stupid. I'm _nice_."

I chuckle, "Cute."

"'I'm not cute, all right!" Silas fumes.

My lip twitches when his voice goes all pitchy again, on the annoying precipice of puberty. "All right then, keep your hair on. I'm Mina."

The boy shifts his weight to his heels. "Humph. My da taught me to be chivalrous to _ladies_ , so I'll let you off with a warning for that one. Just don't let it happen again Mi-I mean, _Serah_ Mina."

Oh, this is just too convenient, isn't it? Too good to be true? My skin pricks at the thought that I may have just compelled this boy, but I don't recall actually trying to. Then again, I've unknowingly done it before, according to Hawke. Heart twists as the mage's disappointed visage flashes through my mind and I scowl. This gets Silas' attention and he raises one barely visible eyebrow as emotions continue to flicker over my face before I finally have the sense to snuff them out. "After you," I drawl.

I follow the boy outside of the village. At first I was alarmed when he led me beyond the village boundaries, away from civilization and _witnesses_ , but then I snapped myself out of my fear when I realized that I could totally take this kid out (and then felt bad about thinking about bumping this kid off). His father? That's another story. Then I spot the little shack about a half mile out of the village and am struck by a sudden realization. There's something odd about the place. Something oddly familiar. I recognize it almost immediately.

_Oh, give me a damn break!_

The usually enticing energy sets my teeth on edge and I prepare myself to meet the apostate. The land around the shack stinks of magic and I can only assume that the mage regularly practices his skill if the soil is soaked with the stuff. My eyes lock on the back of the boy's flaming head and I wonder if he inherited his father's curse. And then I wonder why I didn't sense the magic on the kid if he's always around his dad. That's... a little weird, actually. Is he a little fledgling mage too?

"Silas, my boy? Is that you?" A deep voice calls from a narrow, awkward window and I spot a stocky man leaning out of it. The moment he spots me, the curious look on his face turns defensive and wary.

_The feeling's mutual, pal._

"Da!" Silas jogs up to the window, tossing me an odd look over his shoulder as he clearly saw the change in his father's demeanor. "This is Serah Mina, from Kirkwall. She's going to the Frostback Mountains and I told her you'd lend her your map." He adds in a lower voice that I can still hear with that pitchy prepubescent tone of his, "She says she's an adventurer but I think she'll be in trouble the second she hits the road. We gotta help her."

Some people are just stupidly friendly. They're the types of people who get killed by highwaymen. The apostate's attention immediately flies from his son to me. I can see him sizing me up and he obviously isn't satisfied with what he sees: a scrawny woman with a humongous sword and a death glare trained on his magical self. Most likely he can sense my strangeness like other mages, but hopefully he writes it off as me wearing an enchanted item like Hawke did. Hopefully. Hopefully he's as naïve as his young son. But with my luck, that probably isn't going to happen.

"The Frostback Mountains? That isn't exactly the safest part of Ferelden to go wandering around." Gray eyes linger on Slicer and, disturbingly enough, the exact satchel on my belt that contains my assortment of poisons. "Even if you do have yourself armed to the teeth."

I ditch the glare and flash a charming smile. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm afraid I can't be talked out of going to that particular mountain range. Duty calls and all that."

"What duty, exactly?" Matthias asks as he disappears from view only to exit the shack, firmly closing the door behind himself. "Go out and gather me some elfroot, son."

Silas gives his dad a petulant look but the expression falls right off of his face when his dad gives him a stern frown full of parental authority. The boy sighs and waves goodbye at me before jogging off into the woods. For a moment I wonder how safe it is for him to just wander off into the forest by himself. I mean, the kid is a freakin' beacon with his vibrant hair. He'll probably have bears on him from all over the country. When I turn my gaze back to the apostate, he's giving me an expectant look.

_All right. Story time._

"My fiancé is an adventurous man and also extremely stubborn. He left home a few months ago to go adventuring despite my efforts to get him to toss out his little fantasy of traipsing around a foreign land. The last I heard from one of his comrades, he was headed toward the mountains." I sigh worriedly, "I'm just looking to bring him back home safe and sound. Our wedding is in a month!"

Matthias' eyes glimmer. "Ah, I understand. Once upon a time I was that foolish fiancé. I drove my wife mad with worry. I was lucky to have her for the short time that I did, as your fiancé is lucky to have you." He gives me an approving nod for that totally bullshit story. Told you. Highwayman food. "I'm Matthias Lagrange. I'll lend you the map but I am also lending you my services as a guide as well. I can't just allow a young lady to wander around dragon territory."

_Dragon territory? Dammit, Kiriyama!_

"Oh, no! I couldn't possibly trouble you!" I laugh a bit too loudly as I flap my hands around.

"But I insist."

C'mon! Why can't people tell when they aren't wanted? _Well_ , he probably just doesn't want me running off with his map since those things aren't cheap, but _still_ … I'm not exactly eager to travel with an apostate, especially since I don't know what he dabbles in. For all I know, he could sic a damn demon on me. _Trust me_ , I'm not fond of those great, hulking beasts. My scars tingle just thinking about them. And not a good tingling. "Listen," I sigh, "this is a dangerous quest, I know that already. I can't take you from your son. If it's your map that you're worried about, rest assured I'll bring it back. Here!" I begin digging desperately through my pack. "I'll give you something as collateral!"

"Silas is a resourceful lad." Matthias crosses his arms in a way that gets me to stop ripping my bag apart. "He's used to his da going off on journeys and I've been looking to stretch my legs some. Besides, it won't take long to get to the mountains if we don't take a rest. When I get you to the mountains, I'll leave you be. Mind you, I won't leave. I'll just keep a good distance and offer assistance if necessary."

_Ugh. Just stay with your kid and be a dad, damn._

"How long is the journey?"

"I won't lie, it will take some time. Luckily, I know a man with a horse which should make the journey bearable. I'll ask the village blacksmith if I can borrow his mare." The apostate smiles. "He was the only one to bring a horse and that's because he filched it from some Chasind who had taken it from some sorry bugger. If you ever meet him, he'll brag about the story from dusk 'til dawn."

I smile tightly throughout his entire story. Though he made a snarky remark about his blacksmith friend being a braggart, he's just as bad for telling me a completely pointless story and wasting my precious time… Okay, that was harsh. I'm just antsy because I'm so close to Kiriyama (and possibly Mike) and this fool is just smacking his gums. I almost yell "Finally!" when the apostate heads into the village.

"Looks like he's gone again," an ominous voice says from beside me. I almost scream like a banshee when I spot Silas at my elbow. My first reaction is to slap the back of his head and he reels back. Blame it on being an older sister with a scrappy kid brother. He flinches, "'Ey!"

"Don't do that!" I screech, "My gosh! I have a blade, boy! Don't you know what I could've done to you?"

"But you didn't do nothin'. So there's no need to have a fit!" Silas yells back, rubbing the back of his head.

"Oh hush, I barely even hit you." I fume before grinning. "Anyway, what are you doing sneaking up on me in the first place? Didn't your father tell you to go _gather herbs_? You know, the stuff  _boring_ people do?"

Pale cheeks redden. "I already got 'em." He mumbles, "So, I heard 'im say he's going with you."

I roll back on my heels and look to the sky. "Yes."

"Watch out for my da. He's kinda funny with all his travelin' and whorin' but he's all I got. Just take care of 'im."

Um. I'm sorry? Did this kid just talk about his dad sleeping around? Not that I'm judging the guy's lifestyle, it's just that one would think this dude would keep that sort of thing from his young son. I'm about to make a comment, but green eyes steal my words away. Suddenly I feel very uncomfortable under those imploring eyes. I chuckle, "Well, _he's_ the one taking care of me in this endeavor but I'll keep an eye out for him. All right?"

"Thank you. But you should know he can get kinda flirt-"

"Silas!" For the second time I nearly jump out of my skin as Matthias rides up on horseback. How neither one of us heard the pounding of hooves, I'll never know. I politely distance myself from the father and son as they exchange a few words and I busy myself with examining the horse. Or pretending to. Secretly I try to eavesdrop on the conversation but the horse keeps grunting and trying to get me to pet its mane. "Time to mount up, Serah!" Matthias calls.

* * *

Sculpted musculature ripples beneath my thighs as I tighten my grip on the horse. She's a fine, chestnut colored beauty with a dark mane and a calm demeanor aside from her constant need for affection and adoration. Frosted air nips at my nose and chaps my lips but I refuse to bury my face in the apostate's back, especially after he offered to snuggle up to keep warm by having me ride in front. Instead, I opt to freeze my face off. Hell, I'd rather die all like Jack Nicholson's character in _The Shining_ than huddle up with this weirdo.

I don't care for traveling with strange mages. Sure, they feel nice to be around sometimes, like sitting near a fire on an icy day, but just like with the fire I don't enjoy getting too close. This Matthias is very chatty and grossly flirty on top of being a mage, and while I would enjoy those personality traits under less dire circumstances (and with people I'm actually physically and emotionally comfortable with), my greatest desire at the moment is to rip his trachea out and strangle him with it.

Too graphic? Well, I've already acknowledged my increased aggression toward innocent inanimate objects as well as people, so it's not really a surprise that I want to rip this mage apart. Right? I can only pin this on the sudden increase in my anxiety levels from the reappearance of Carrow compounded with his awful news regarding my baby brother. But my hostility _is_ rather strange… "And that is why I am no longer allowed in the vicinity of The Pearl!" The mage's carefree voice carries over the wind and smacks me in the face.

I don't bother to plaster on a fake grin since he can't even see me say, "Hilarious! You know, that's the exact same experience I had at The Blooming Rose in Kirkwall! Fortunately, I wasn't the one doing the vomiting!"

Days drag on with nothing to differentiate one from the other aside from increasing levels of disappointment. On several occasions I've kept the apostate from walking off a cliff and he's done me the same service, which has made me second-guess this quest quite a few times. I expected bears and dragons to be more of a hazard than the terrain itself. Hell, maybe even some wolves to go all _The Grey_ on our asses. Just goes to show you how inexperienced I am at all this. I'm not cut out for the whole rescue mission bit. So... I guess I was lucky to stumble across some very pushy Fereldans.

We've been on the road a while. Hawke and company have probably already made it back to the surface but Matthias and I are still clopping up and down seemingly unused roads, waiting out blizzards together in a too-crowded tent and trying to find even the faintest trace of my brother or Kiriyama through a perpetual veil of white. Carrow hasn't visited me during this entire venture despite having promised to be my spirit guide. I even called out to him in the dead of night a few times, hoping for an answer. But nope. Nothing. It's just been me and the apostate Matthias wandering around the mountains aimlessly.

We haven't even come across any wildlife out here. We've been totally isolated and I find being alone with Matty increasingly more disturbing day by day. At first he was chatty, happy, amiable, and admittedly very, _very_ annoying but I'd take that version of Matthias in a heartbeat over this reserved, calculating model. His transformation took place over the first week of us being out here and at first I blamed it on his stress about not seeing his son Silas. Then again, according to the young redhead, Matthias leaves often.

"Let's call it a night," I sigh as I shake my cloak of gathering frost.

"Yes. Let's." Matthias concurs.

We head back to our little camp and I manage to make a fire with minimal cursing and without setting myself on fire for once. I notice the apostate is staring at me from his spot on a smooth rock, as usual. It's kind of funny how he's done this so often that I no longer find it creepy. Well, I _still_ find it creepy but it just disturbs me less, if that makes sense. "Tomorrow we'll go east again. I know the bulk of the mountain range is there and you don't want to go mountain climbing, but I have a good feeling about tomorrow." I beam as I warm my hands.

That speech has been reiterated by me every time we get back to camp. And every day Matthias doesn't respond with words, just an affirmative grunt before he goes and cracks open a book he brought along for the journey. Hell, it's like all mages are moody! Merrill was sweet and hyper when I first met her but then she got her hands on that mirror and things turned sour. Anders was funny before he got all preachy and Hawke… has always been Hawke.

"Tomorrow we'll find him." I insist, "Tomorrow for sure."

A loud sigh draws my attention to the mage. "I'm afraid there isn't going to be a tomorrow."

Hands pause in their efforts to get warm. "Uh… What?"

His gray eyes widen and he laughs, "Oh! Sorry, that sounded odd. No. I mean I have to leave."

Lips crack from a restrained smile. Though I'm happy that he's going to be out of my hair, I must admit that after being out here for damn near two weeks I don't want to die alone in the cold. "I understand. Go on and head home to your son, I won't keep you any longer," I reassure him.

Matthias nods. "Yes, but I have to ask you something."

_Ugh._

I smile prettily. "Hm?"

"Are you an apostate?" Matthias notices my shock and quickly follows up with, "I won't turn you in! I was just curious. I've been trying to figure it out during this whole trip but, alas, I have come to no conclusion. Even after two weeks," he adds with a self-deprecating smile.

"I'm not a mage," I barely grind out, on edge.

"Come now." Matthias chuckles though he's obviously frustrated, "I'm a friend! Trust me, I am the last person who would ever turn over a-" His face goes pale and his jaw clenches. I'm about to ask what's wrong when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A robed figure stands next to me and I slowly turn my head to see Carrow looking as sickly as ever. At first I'm elated to see the mage, but then I notice the severe look on his face. Oddly enough, he isn't even looking _at me_. He only has eyes for Matthias and by the look of displeasure on his gaunt face, I don't think that's a good thing.

"Can he see you?" I whisper, lips barely moving like a ventriloquist.

Sapphire eyes finally drop down to me. "No. But the man certainly senses me. Though, I believe he thinks he is sensing _you_ using blood magic since to him there can be no other source for it to emanate from." The mage waves a bony hand. "If I were you I would be _honored_ , since not all can master the forbidden arts. It must be a great delight to have someone mistake you for a genius."

"He thinks it's coming from _me_?" I hiss in alarm as Matthias' eyes narrow.

"Yes, that is what I just said, my dear."

"You're a maleficar." Matthias growls as he stands, "No _wonder_ you wouldn't tell me. Who wouldn't be ashamed to be what you are? But what makes matters worse, what makes you so despicable is that you _choose_ to be this."

Carrow scoffs, "How rude!"

_Oh, isn't this just some wonderful shit?_

"Easy Matthias." I stand with my hands raised. "This isn't what you think. I'm not a-"

"Quiet!" He roars and I flinch. How easily he goes from an affable mage to downright hostile is frightening. "Do you know how hard it is to have to constantly be on my guard? To have to prepare myself every day to be taken away from my son? It's _your_ kind that keeps people in fear of mages! And they have a good reason to be wary of you. You're just what the Chantry calls us mages, you're an abomination!"

A venomous hiss comes from beside me, "Insolent cur!"

My brow twitches as I try to do some quick damage control while ignoring the blond and his hurt feelings. "Matthias, you don't kn-"

"Enough! I don't want to hear another word from you!" I notice with a churn of my stomach that he's beginning to give off his own little blizzard. "Do you even _have_ a fiancé? What is your true purpose for being here? Why did you take me from my son?"

_Uh, should I respond, or…?_

"I didn't take you from your son, you came _willingly_!" The words feel like they're ripped out of me despite my initial hesitation to respond. Then I realize that something was most likely ripped from me as I find myself landing on my back, chest smoking from a bone chilling blast. From seemingly far away, the horse begins to neigh in alarm. Shit. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut.

Why can I never keep my mouth shut? But the guy is acting like a lunatic! I haven't done a damn thing to him but the second he feels Carrow pop up from Wonderland, all the times that I made Matthias food and kept him from falling to his death are wiped from his memory and replaced with his obvious contempt for blood mages. How very convenient. How very predictable of a mage- No, that's not fair. I groan as a splitting ache begins to settle in my chest, "Seriously Dermot, this is the first and _last_ time I take flak for you."

The blond apparition is crouched by my side. "I do apologize, dear one, but unfortunately there is nothing I can do to aid you at the moment. Believe me, it would be my utmost pleasure to turn this mongrel into a pile of razed flesh and gore, but we have a guest coming our way. Remain calm and all should go well." He gives me a weirdly charming wink. "Good luck."

_Does he mean Kiriyama?_

And then he's gone, leaving me to deal with the furious mage who has an excellent grasp on primal magic judging by the intensity of pain I'm starting to feel in my chest, right through to my heart. With another groan, I try to right myself but am knocked back down with another cold blast before I can even get on my elbows. At first, I was completely against wailing on the apostate and was keen to get him to calm down. But now… Oh, he's going to _get it_. "Christ on a crutch," I grunt. Shaking away the blurriness from my peripheral vision, I reach for a dagger with a rabid grin. "All right Matthias, time for yours."

"If anyone is going to be 'getting theirs' it's going to be y-"

Honestly, I'm completely caught off guard by the sharp intake of breath followed by the all too familiar guttural sounds of someone choking (in my line of work, I've had to choke out a few people rather than kill them). I'm also completely caught off guard by what causes that noise. The answer is Matthias, which doesn't come as much of a shock, but the reason for his sudden strangulation is what knocks the wind out of me harder than what Matthias' little ice blasts did.

_He's here!_

But, no wait… He's not. This isn't Kiriyama come to rescue me and I allow myself a split second of relief that I won't have to try and save face around the serpent before panic and confusion start to try and cloud my judgment. Because yes, I'm confused. I recognize the person choking my guide but at the same time I don't. This isn't the boy from my dreams or the one from my memories. This isn't the chubby-cheeked toddler I raised when our mother was too drunk out of her mind or coked out on one of her "artist" benders to bother taking care of her own kid. This isn't the young man I took to school and picked up from after-school clubs. The person strangling Matthias is a…

_Monster?_

The tall creature lifts the apostate off of his feet with one strong and stable arm. Unbridled hatred is etched into stone features and my heart stops cold. He has Matthias by the throat, ashy hand trembling with barely contained fury. Horrified, I watch as the apostate's face turns red as he sputters, clawing at my brother's arm and face. Crimson lines decorate Mike's eerily pale gray flesh, the cuts seemingly refusing to bleed and only adding to Mike's fury. Suddenly, the air grows even colder and Mike's arm is encased in ice. The trap glitters like diamonds and for a moment I think Matthias has saved himself until, with a flex of his muscles, Mike simultaneously shatters the ice and snaps Matthias' neck.

I think time stands still. Matthias had his neck snapped in less than five seconds and now time is broken. There was no need for Matthias to die, but I could have intervened somehow if I'd had a mind to move- if I hadn't been too paralyzed with fear. My inability to function turned my brother into a kill- _Stop_. My brow furrows as I watch Mike. The self-blame bit doesn't feel like it applies here when I look at the boy whose face looks like it's some monstrous mask made of gray stone with onyx for eyes. He isn't even the same person anymore. The Mike _I_ knew… could never do something like this.

_And the Mina he knew isn't you._

Is this why Kiriyama didn't tell me about my brother? Was he trying to save me the pain of finding out that coming to Thedas turned my brother into some sort of creature? The thought brings bile to the back of my throat and tears to my eyes. "Mike... What have you done?" I breathe, far too terrified to move but still able to throw myself onto the precipice of a panic attack when my brain starts working again. A series of emotions ripple across my brother's face: rage, confusion, shock, and disgust. He drops the apostate's lifeless body and I cringe at the way the dead man falls in a heap of robes and clammy flesh. I can't believe that just happened.

When he just stands there, looming over his victim for a few minutes that feel more like centuries, I realize that I'm the poor sucker who has to snap him out of it. If he can even be snapped out of whatever _this_ is… He's a gray creature with inky black hair, chest heaving, nostrils flaring like a wild animal. The air around him feels colder than the weather and… _empty_. Admittedly I'm scared witless. But in the furthest corner of my mind there's a part of me that feels sickly satisfied. The one burning question was answered: What makes "the boy" dangerous? Now I know. With a tremor in my voice I command, "Calm down, Mikey."

He doesn't seem to hear me at first and I repeat myself a bit louder, mostly out of fear that there's nothing left of the boy that I knew in there. To me I sound too loud, like I'm shouting in a library, but I'm only speaking in a conversational tone. My voice seems to register for him and my baby brother turns his pitch black eyes on me. A shiver of pure fear runs down my spine but I plaster on a smile and shakily get off my ass and onto my feet. He watches, motionless. "I killed someone," he rumbles and my heart aches at both the familiar voice and his broken tone.

I swallow and wobbly make my way over to him like a newborn fawn. "It's all right, kid."

He turns away. "Is it? I killed a person."

No, it's not all right. I've killed lots of people before and each consecutive one doesn't make the action any better. If anything, it makes it worse. Imagining the guilt that he's feeling, my heart seems to tear apart. I've been there, in that place of darkness and despair. I've felt that initial shock, the alarm and desperate attempts to rationalize my actions followed by a seemingly endless self-hatred. But then all I would have to do was look to Hawke, Kiriyama, Isabela, and the others and realize that I've _helped_ someone, _protected_ someone. And that's all that matters. I can only hope that I can help get Mike past the darkness.

"It… It happens. It's not right but it happens." I hesitantly touch his icy arm, not sure how he'll react to my touch. His violent act is at the forefront of my mind and his unnatural appearance combined with that dead air around him has my instincts begging me to run. But I can't give up on him. He's my _brother_ , for crying out loud!

Black eyes stare me down. "You know I'm a monster, right?"

My lips twitch into a fake half-smile. "No more than I am."

"Have you killed anyone?"

"Several." I wince at how my voice cracks.

"Did you _want_ to kill them?"

"Sometimes. If they hurt me or others."

His eyes close as if he's in pain. "I _wanted_ to kill him."

A shiver wracks my frame as the wind picks up but Mike seems unaffected. "Because he hurt me?" I ask hopefully. Because if Mike did this to protect me, then maybe I can make this all right for him.

"I… didn't see that part," my brother confesses, "I killed him because I wanted to. I've killed a lot of people lately, mages, all because I wanted to. It just… feels nice."

_Fu-Uh-oh._

"Mike, I know you're feeling some pretty confusing things but you need to calm down." I swallow audibly, like a terrified cartoon character. "I feel the draw to mages too, but you can't just go and do whatever the hell you want with them. I know they feel nice, their auras or whatever you want to call it, and sometimes you wish you could just... dig your fingers into their flesh and rip the magic right out of them, but you _can't_ do that. Not to the good ones, at least…"

_What the hell was that?_

Lips twist into a grimace and brows furrow as I play back what I just said a few times and realize that, yes, I _do_ feel that way toward mages. There's this draw to them, sweet and warm. Magic smells like the perfect thing to sate your appetite, the perfect treat. An indulgence. And I realize, with a jolt to my system, that I _do_ want to do bad things to mages just to get it. All this time, I've been satisfying that sick, wicked craving by surrounding myself with mages and just basking in the glow of their magic. And I've been acting like everything has been completely normal. I never thought twice about it. Never acknowledged it until now.

"You feel that too?"

His voice shakes me out of my thoughts and I find my brother looking like his normal self. No ashy skin, no black eyes, no look of pure hatred on his seemingly unmovable face. He looks like he's from a dream- from the dizzying dreams I'd have about my past life, the ones I'd wake up from crying. I never thought I'd see him again. The skin beneath my fingertips slowly begins to warm and I clench onto his arm even harder. I suddenly realize that my heart was racing a mile a minute. "Yeah, I do."

"And you don't give into it?" Mike asks, reddish brown eyes suddenly looking ashamed.

I shake my head fervently. "No. _Never_. But I've been here longer. I think it'll take time for you."

_Hopefully._

"Why? I mean, how? How do you keep yourself from killing them?"

That's a puzzling question. This subconscious desire of mine has never been uncontrollable and it's never even been salient up until I acknowledged it. The idea that this, what Mike just did, is out of his control makes my stomach twist. "I just... _d_ _on't_. I don't know how I brush the feeling off but I do. I think it's that I don't take pleasure in killing people and Carrow," his eyes darken but I press on, "has kinda ruined mages for me. I'm ashamed to say that I'm sort of afraid of mages and what they can do to me. So, I try awful hard not to piss them off. Attempting to kill them is one of the things that'll piss them off." I joke lamely.

"But you're stronger than them," Mike insists, looking agitated when I mentioned my phobia.

I can't help but laugh despite the severity of the situation, "What? I've had mages toss me around like a ragdoll before, kiddo. They're way outta my league."

A sigh escapes him in the form of a small cloud of steam as he shrugs me off and begins to pace in his usual Mike-fashion, leaving my hand to grow cold. "Carrow told me when he got brave enough to wander down into the cellar that you were his favorite creation, that nothing he ever summoned could match you."

"Oh, I feel myself being wooed already," I drawl. I'm trying not to let my head spin by how quickly Mike just went from expressing remorse over murder to talking about Carrow and Summoned stuff. It's disturbing. How he went from being all woebegone to totally unaffected? It's... Strange. It's almost like I'm talking to a different person than the one I was speaking to not five seconds ago.

My brother rolls his eyes, that haughty action snapping me out of my troubled daze. "You're, well, he said 'a monster' but I think he meant it as a compliment. You're so 'disarmingly charming' that no one would ever detect your invasion on their soul. He got pretty poetic."

I try to ignore the fact that that bastard had my brother locked up in a dungeon since that seems par for the course as I retort, "That's very nice." Obviously I'm not contributing much to this conversation. Though I tell myself that diving into Summoned talk might be a coping mechanism for Michael, it's still just _too damn weird_ for me to brush off. I'm not saying that I expect him to cry and mope for days like I've done before, but a little introspection would be nice. A little more guilt would be great.

Suddenly, so very abruptly, he asks, "You know about all the Summoned bullshit, right? Were you given that lecture at orientation?"

I blink. Nope. I don't know _all_ about the Summoned because I decided I was content to rot in Kirkwall and then got stonewalled by Kiriyama. My fear of Carrow kept me from trying to find out anything about my summoning before Kiri reemerged because I just _assumed_ everything could be taken at face value: blood mage wanted power, blood mage murdered people as a sacrifice, blood mage tried to summon demons, blood mage accidentally summoned someone who died in another world and her killer who was covered in her blood. Obviously, thinking back, that "accident" was pretty huge and too significant to _just_ be an accident.

However, my subconscious fear of finding out anything malicious about _myself_ as a result of my summoning had me trying to set my past on fire. Turns out, my cowardice was on freakin' point. I can honestly say that I could have lived a perfectly fine life having not heard one damn peep about the Summoned and my little role in it, but I've been forced to get second-hand information from Kiriyama and now Mike. Because Mike and Kiri like to know shit. Me, on the other hand? I just like the _convenient_ truth- at least in regard to my macabre origins in this world. I roll my eyes at my continued cowardice and denial but frown at Mike.

"Not exactly."

"Well, during all of his ramblings, Carrow _politely_ informed me that you're dangerous. To counteract what you do, Steven can sorta 'clean up' your corruption on people by entering the Fade and doing I don't know what exactly. It's apparently complicated and Steven can't do it yet. But from what I've been hearing, he needs to _start_ learning because you've already been doing things to people. I think he was trying to scare me off of you so that I wouldn't try to find you."

In my guilty haste to look away from my brother, I pop my neck. Admittedly it was stupid of me to think Mike wouldn't know what I've been doing to people with my ability, what with him walking around like the Encyclopedia of Summoned thanks to Carrow's manic diatribes (which I almost wish _I'd_ been subjected to). I had hoped I could keep my invasion on people's minds under wraps so I could at least _appear_ to be a good role model for my brother.

Either not caring for his wording or not caring about me, Mike rambles, "You've been ruining people from the inside out. Like a disease. I know that was said to scare me... But mostly, it just piqued my interest." Mike smirks but I feel sick. "That's why I wanted to find you, other than the fact that I've missed your dumbass ever since you disappeared. Carrow talks like we both need to be isolated because we're volatile, but I didn't want you to be lonely."

Whoa. And just like that, my growing fear and anxiety at being found out are snuffed out and replaced with anger. Carrow said I need to be _isolated_? What? Caged up like some sort of beast? Okay, yeah, I'll be the first to admit that what I've done to people has been messed up. I shouldn't have played Puppet Master. It was wrong of me to make Carver talk to me and make Bart open his house to me. It was wrong that I took away their free-will and made them act against their better judgment. Carver was the victim of boredom but sweet Bart and that bitch Elin were victims of _necessity_. What I did to Elin was self-defense. I'm _not_ volatile!

But oh, boy. The casual way that Mike just launched into this conversation left me no time to mentally prepare. Feelings that I had buried away from when Kiriyama initially told me about the Summoned come surging back before I can get a proper handle on them. Disgust, shame, anger, and fear. _This_. This is the downside to bottling up emotions. When I don't deal with them properly and I leave them unattended for too long, they explode when I least expect it. "Um," I say softly and my brother asks me to speak up. "Why did he tell _you_ this? He didn't even tell _me_. I had to get the lowdown from Kiriyama."

My brother's broad shoulders come up in an indifferent shrug. "I'm paraphrasing. All of the juicy bits were sandwiched between insults slung at your bastard killer and threats to have someone kill me if I ever went near you."

"Oh. Well that's nice," I laugh breathlessly as I drop myself down next to the fire.

Mike stands next to me. "It's all pretty wicked. Carrow said it just takes one look and you can have someone's soul rotting if their will isn't strong enough. That's why you're the favorite. He hates Steven because Steven is the only one who gets full control of you. Carrow only claims part of your will and Steven has the rest of you. The same will happen to me when the other Summoned, the Palm, comes around." Mike pouts out his lower lip and grumbles, "We're the subservient class, they're the overlords."

Well, ain't this a bitch? I was wanting more information from Stonewall Kiriyama about this Summoned business and now I'm getting the casual lowdown from my kid brother after he just snapped a dude's neck right in front of me like it was nothing. And now he's continuing to talk _like it's nothing_. Y'know, in my dreams, when Mike and I finally met up, I thought we would hug and cry and tell each other how much we missed each other and how everything was going to be all right from here on out.

Instead, Mike just launched right into this conversation without even acknowledging the fact that we haven't seen each other in _so long_. Two years! It's been two _years_ since I've been stuck here! I celebrated my twenty-second birthday at sea, _alone_ , surrounded by strangers. I've missed so much time with my family and I'll never see them again. But the one family member I finally,  _finally_ get to see doesn't even mention or consider what I've been through- it's just all glossed over. And the kicker is... I can hardly even recognize him.

I don't even mean physically. Sure, when he went nuts he looked odd. But I mean personality-wise. There's just something _off_ about him. He's all here with the same entitled and self-absorbed persona, with the dark curls and the stubborn baby fat on his cheeks. Even back home, though, he at least showed signs of self-awareness. It's almost like he just _forgot_ about the dead guy here at camp. It's almost like he doesn't see the snow or the mountains. It's almost like he doesn't realize where he is.

"Why were you here, of all places?" I suddenly ask as I look around the snowy woods, drawing my coat closer to my body. "Truthfully, I never thought I had a chance of finding you here. Everything looks the same." I don't dare mention that I was actually out here looking for Kiriyama. But as long as I have Mike, I don't need to search for the serpent because he can just conveniently teleport to me. The lucky bastard.

Mike seems thrown off-kilter by my sudden redirection in the conversation. After a moment, he sits heavily next to me. "It... I was just wandering, trying to find a way out of this place. Then I felt magic." Something strange flickers across his cherubic face. "I'll admit, Bill, I was following it for days. I didn't know you'd be with the mage." Speaking of the mage, we both look uncomfortably toward the dead man. It's the first time Mike has looked at him since he dropped him. Mike frowns. "How did you know him?"

"His son introduced us," I reply softly, looking away from the corpse.

"Son?"

I sigh, "His _young_ son. The boy is probably ten or twelve."

"Does he have a mother?"

"Not that I saw. From what I gathered, she's dead."

"Fuck."

I snap my head toward him. "Hey! Language!"

"Billy you've been swearing in front of me since I was ten. Stop trying to be all polite," Mike snaps as he pulls his cloak closer toward his sturdy body.

I purse my lips. "Fair enough." He doesn't respond. He just stares into the dying fire like he's a million miles away. His eyes are troubled and I can see something brewing in them.

"We'll have to take care of the kid. I feel bad enough as it is…"

_Does he?_

"All right. I won't argue with you. But we're going to have to lie about his father's death." I squint off into the trees. "We'll say a dragon got him. He was trying to protect us and a dragon got him. Oh! Dragons exist, by the way."

A thick eyebrow rises, almost hidden beneath the thick curls of dark hair that fall across his forehead. "Okay. I know that. Why a dragon, though?"

"Seems like a noble death." I shrug stiffly from the encroaching cold. "Plus, I think the boy would appreciate it more, as strange as that sounds."

"Well, where are we going to go once we get the boy?" Mike asks as he stands.

I follow suit. "Back to where I live: Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall?" He asks incredulously.

"You have a problem with that? Do you have a better plan, Oh Mighty One?"

"No, it's just…" My brother frowns. "No. Let's go." Mike makes his way over toward my and the late Matthias' tent and begins to take it down. I watch uneasily as he packs everything away and heads over toward the antsy horse. The pack is strapped to the horse and we're all ready to go. My brother gives me an expectant and irritated look, probably displeased that I offered no help, but I don't care. My stomach is squeezing uncomfortably. "Let's go."

"Wait! Shouldn't we bury him?" I ask uneasily, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

He runs a hand through his curly hair. "Oh for fuck's sake, Bill. As much as I feel bad about killing the man, I don't want to freeze my ass off trying to give him a proper burial. If anything we should burn his body, but I don't even think he deserves _that_ after you told me he hurt you."

I look away uncomfortably. "It was a misunderstanding…"

"Misunderstanding or not, get your butt on the horse and let's _go_. God only knows how long it'll take us to get to your home."

" _Our_ home," I correct swiftly.

Mike gives me a grim smile. "Right. Our home."


	32. The Ice Prince

**23\. The Ice Prince**

Snowy mountains give way to rolling plains which in turn fade out into lush forests. Ferelden is a beautiful place and reminds me of Texas with its many terrains, save for the tundra. Texas can be described in many ways, but a tundra it most certainly is not. And that tundra made attempting to give Matthias a proper burial almost impossible. Mike and I soon discovered that the frozen earth was nearly impenetrable; so instead we opted to bury the mage in stones, seeing as how I refused to burn his body. Something about burning the body seemed undignified, though I've heard that it's common practice. I mean c'mon: Cremation.

I would like to say that I'm completely at peace after having found my brother, but I can't. Even though a sick little side of me was happy at the prospect of having family here, I'm not at peace. I especially can't say I'm at "peace" after Matthias had his neck snapped like an uncooked stick of spaghetti. I love my brother, which is why I can't make peace with this strange feeling of complete "wrongness" about Mike that I can't seem to shake; it hangs over me like a dismal cloud even as I lay in a small clearing of tall grass with budding flowers.

The air in the forest's clearing- honeyed by the aroma of flowers and rain- can't combat the churning in my stomach that I've had since finding Mike. At first, I thought this awful feeling was just me being my usual neurotic self. Just Worrywort Mina at her finest. I blamed it on my fear of what this world might do to him. Rationally, I argued that I was only upset about him losing his good, cushy life back in our world and trading it for one in which he might be preyed upon by the likes of Carrow for power. Actually, that's what I still want to believe, and yet…

_And yet…_

"So you sailed to Gwaren? I guess we'll have to catch a ship from there, then? Well, actually I think Denerim would be a safer bet considering it's a major city. It's bound to have more ships docked," Mike's voice fills the small clearing, breaking through the pleasant silence.

"Huh?" Sitting up on my elbows, I look over to where Mike sits at the mouth of our tent. I gaze at my baby brother surrounded by lush foliage dripping with dew. This would almost be serene if I could get my brain to behave.

Mike distracts me with another question of his own, "Hey? We're going to Denerim, right?"

I shake myself. "Yeah, yeah."

"And we're getting the mage's boy too, right?"

_I'm not too sure about that right now…_

Something tells me that that isn't a good idea- having Mike and Silas traveling together, I mean. Who knows if the boy will turn out to be a mage like his father? There's a slim chance that he won't be the least bit magical. Maybe he takes after his mother? Was his mother norm- I mean non-magical? If she was, then maybe... I can't be sure about that, but I also know that it would be awful to leave the boy high and dry without parents. Still, if Silas turns out to be a mage he'll be in danger with Mike around. I saw with my own eyes what my sweet little brother does to magic users.

_Sweet? He's not like you remember, Mina…_

That's true. The Mike I knew would never kill a person. Then again, the _Mina_ I knew would've never killed a living soul and yet I've killed more people than I care to reveal. But _Mike_? My gosh I'm just so happy to see him and hold him in my arms (when he lets me)! But every now and then I see something in his eyes. It's familiar, eerily familiar, and only adds to the uncomfortable feeling I get around him. I only catch it in glances, that strange look in his eyes. I only ever see it when he thinks I'm not looking. I don't know how to explain it, but it's as though he lost the "light" in his eyes. It makes my skin crawl. It makes me think someone else is looking out at me from his eyes.

"Maybe." I reply at length, "I'm not too sure if it's wise to take the boy away from the only home he's ever known. It'd probably be best to take him to the Chantry."

"The _Chantry_?" Mike asks incredulously. "Isn't he a mage?"

Furrowing my brow at his reaction, I snap, "Okay, I know the Chantry is shit but sometimes they have the decency to pretend to care about people, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't act like I'm a huge idiot for suggesting it. And as for Silas being a mage, he wasn't one when I saw him... though that _was_ almost a month ago."

"A lot can change in a month."

I don't like his ominous tone, but I ignore it as I completely sit up and swat a butterfly out of my face. Dark eyes watch me carefully and in their depths I see something akin to hunger. My blood runs cold and I feel like bolting. This isn't the first time that I've had this feeling, either. Since we started our week-long, restless journey back to Gwaren, I've felt like a sheep being watched by a wolf. There's definitely something wrong with my brother. But I can't allow myself to fear him. Standing confidently, I nod toward Mike. "Take the tent down. It's about time we get to Gwaren and inform Silas of his father's passing. Then we'll make for Denerim."

As Mike dismantles the flimsy tent, I walk over to the chestnut mare and stroke her pretty mane. The fine hairs glide easily through my fingers and the mare makes an appreciative noise at the sensation of my fingertips against her strong neck. Something, I have to do _something_ to keep busy. I could help Mike with the tent but I find that I prefer to keep him at arm's length. This flip-flopping between self-preservation and my sisterly need to make my brother feel safe and supported is making me want to punch myself. Irritation prods at the back of my brain, promising a headache.

_As long as you're calm, all will be well. Remember what Carrow said?_

Like Carrow's the patron saint of good advice? I ride behind Mike on the horse, all frowns. This is how we've done it thus far, with me using the awful excuse that I'm more experienced at riding and will make sure Mike doesn't fall off. Truth is, I don't want him at my back. Plus, I can't ride a horse worth shit; my thighs ache and I already have riding sores on my riding sores. The only thing keeping me from complaining is Mike. Although I get bad vibes from him, he still has the same lovable sweet-and-sour personality that I remember. The taunting and teasing that only I can tell he means in jest. The glares and the haughty attitude. And if I complain about my riding sores, I'll never hear the end of it with this boy.

We make it to Gwaren at sundown, taking our time on foot to scan the forest for Matthias and Silas' hut. Though we walk at a leisurely pace, we're both still very much aware that there could be creatures (namely friggin' bears) skulking about. When we finally find the hut with its lighted windows, I tell Mike to stay back with the horse as I knock on the door. It opens quickly, without any signs of hesitation, and I'm met with two green eyes staring up at me. "Serah Mina?"

"Silas." I smile tightly. "It's been a while…"

"It has. But my da has been gone longer before." He moves to look behind me. "Where is 'e?" Silas' eyes narrow upon seeing Mike. "Who's that?"

_Damn, damn, damn…_

"Your father..." I scratch my cheek uncomfortably. Idiot. During the entire ride here I didn't even think of how I'd break the news. "He died, Silas. We encountered a dragon in the mountains and your father died to keep me and my brother safe. I'm sorry." Tears pool in those eyes, but I don't see it for long before the door is slammed shut in my face. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Mike watching gloomily. He's crestfallen and I don't blame him. After all, he _is_ the one who killed the boy's father and made an orphan of the kid.

With a twinge in my gut, I wonder how many widows and widowers I probably made. Or how many families I tore apart by killing a son or a daughter. With a sigh, I knock on the door again. It isn't worth dwelling on these sorts of things. All I'll succeed in doing is letting myself be consumed with guilt, which isn't exactly a productive activity. "Silas!" I call and the lights go out, the familiar scent of hot wax drifting from the cracked windows. "You can't stay out here all alone. It's dangerous!"

"I'm not leaving!" His voice is muffled and I figure he's probably got his face buried in a pillow or something.

"We need to take you to the Chantry." I say through the door, close enough that my lips graze the rough wood, "There are highwaymen and bears in the forest. You'll be safer in town."

" _Not_ the Chantry!" Silas' voice is no longer muffled, "I'm better off alone. I've got supplies and my da taught me how to live out here... Just go. You won't convince me. My da always told me not to go near the Chantry or them Templars. I'm better off _here_ than I am in _there_."

"He has a point."

I nearly jump out of my skin as I whirl around to find Mike right behind me. "Didn't I tell you to stay away?" I hiss.

Michael throws me a bland look. "Like I ever listen? Anyway, the boy could turn out to be a mage. From what I hear, the Chantry is the last place any mage wants to be. It's a straight shot from there to the Circle."

"Um, how do you know all this?" I ask uncertainly.

Dark eyes roll. "I've been here a while now, it's hard _not_ to pick up on things like this."

_Right._

I purse my lips. "Be that as it may, I still don't feel comfortable leaving the boy out in the middle of nowhere. At least in the Chantry he'll be surrounded by other people. Besides, there isn't even a guarantee that he'll be a mage. I heard before that it sometimes skips a generation."

"Billy." Mike worries his lip, looking slightly guilty. "He's a mage."

I blink. "No he isn't." Lowering my voice, I assure Mike, "If he was, I'd know." Since Matthias' departure, the land around the hut isn't nearly as soaked in magic as it was when I first came around. The magic is slowly but surely dissipating. If Silas _was_ a mage, the magic wouldn't be fading. Besides, I didn't _feel_ anything from the boy when he answered the door. He's completely  _non-magical_.

"My... _abilities_ are better than yours when it comes to finding mages. He may not have experienced any magic yet, but the boy is a mage. There's no doubt about it," Mike confesses, avoiding eye contact. Though I feel like someone just spat in my face, I'm not as surprised as I should be. It would make sense that Mike would be able to sense mages- or in this case, _potential_ mages- better than myself due to his "fondness" for killing them. It's a disturbing notion, but I brush the squirmy feeling I get aside and focus on Silas' predicament.

We can't take him to the Chantry. Mike's right. It's a straight shot to the Circle if he's found out and I already got as up close and personal as I'm comfortable with the Chantry and its lovely Templars when one of my smuggler partners got murdered for refusing to hand over his apostate son. So, we can't take Silas to the damn Chantry and we certainly can't take him along for our journey with Mike's "condition." I guess the only thing to do is leave him be. The thought makes me uneasy, but it's not as though we have many options... Maybe I can come back for him?

"Okay." I sigh, loud enough for Silas to hear, "I'm sorry for your loss, Silas, I truly am. Your father was a brave man, an honorable man. I... When I get home, I'll write you as often as I can and I'll send you money. Be safe." There's no response, but I can't wait around any longer for one as Mike urges me back toward the horse. As we ride for Denerim, those teary green eyes haunt me.

* * *

Mike was right about one thing, Denerim was not in short supply of ships or shifty captains looking to make easy coin by taking on passengers in the cargo hold of said ships. It didn't seem all that legal since the Orlesian captain of the _Velvet Wind_ was very hush-hush, but he accepted the chestnut mare for two one-way tickets to Kirkwall where he was going to drop off a shipment of fine rum. The fact that this wasn't a legal deal was made abundantly clear when we had to pretend to be workers moving barrels onto the ship. Mike and I were led below deck, away from the din of the bustling city, and into a somewhat stifling hold filled with barrels upon barrels of rum. That's how we find ourselves meeting our fellow passenger.

"Hello." A tattooed elf smiles charmingly, voice thick with an Antivan accent.

Beside me, Mike stiffens. At first I fear that the elven man might be a mage with our luck, but I don't feel a lick of magic radiating from him. In fact, the only thing radiating off of him is pure charm and maybe a hint of smarm. The man is tan and lean, with fine blond hair like platinum silk, and an interesting facial tattoo sprawled across his left cheek. My eyebrows rise when I notice he's wearing leather armor and a deep, forest green cloak that complements his warm, brown eyes. Correction, he doesn't radiate charm, he _oozes_ it. He's too handsome for his own good and he knows it. But he isn't some pretty airhead; there's a definite cunning glint in those brown eyes. This is one dangerous man. Best get on his good side.

_Turn on the charm, Mina._

"Hello," I greet, gesturing to Mike to take a seat.

The elf watches as Mike tosses down his pack and sits heavily on the unfinished floor before he lifts his clear brown eyes to me. "Headed to Kirkwall, I presume?"

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." I smile. "I suppose you're headed the same way, friend?"

"But of course."

"Business or pleasure?" Beside me I hear Mike choke and internally sigh at how he's throwing off my game. Listen, if we're going to be stuck below deck with another stowaway, it's best to get on his good side. I'd rather not make an unnecessary enemy, thanks. Wish Mike would get with the program.

The stranger's eyes glitter. "I'm almost disappointed to say that I'm headed there for business. And yourself?"

"Ah." I nod with a grin. "As am I, business all the way. It's a shame my plans are set in stone. But how was I to know that I'd have such enchanting company in a ship's hold, of all places?"

"Tsk, tsk. Your companion doesn't seem to enjoy your words as much as I," the elf chastises, though he doesn't look like he means it in the slightest.

I glance down at an irritated Mike. "My companion is my protective younger _brother_. He never lets me have any fun." Focusing my attention back on the elf, I ask, "What's your name, by the way? I'm Mina and this is Mike."

"Such a lovely name. I am Zevran, Zev to my friends."

Lips quirk into a grin. "So, may I call you Zev?"

He smirks, shifting his position as he leans against a barrel. "Of course."

This man reminds me so much of Isabela with his cavalier and flirtatious attitude. Despite how enjoyable it is for me to harmlessly (and very, very shamelessly) flirt with a perfect stranger, I can practically feel the irritation coming off of Mike in crashing waves. So, I reel it in a bit before Mike can break out the water hose. I casually chat with this Zevran fellow to keep my mind off of the fact that I'm in a ship surrounded by water. I'm glad that I decided to be friendly with the man, because as I continue to shoot the breeze with him I become increasingly aware that he's a rogue. Rogues are bad news if you aren't one to constantly be vigilant.

If you aren't looking they can steal your shit, poison you, slit your throat, or all of the above... it all depends on the rogue in question. I know Isabela would only steal your items, but this man? He has the pernicious air of an assassin. So it's safe to say that if we got off on the wrong foot, he wouldn't bat an eye at slipping me a little something in my water. Too bad Mike can't read my damn mind, because the bristly little porcupine decides to take on a hostile, accusatory tone as he suddenly pipes up to ask, "Where are you from originally, Zevran? You don't strike me as being a Fereldan."

Zev chuckles amiably despite Mike's tone, turning his gaze to my brother. "Well, you're correct in saying I'm not a Fereldan. I'm originally from Antiva."

"Antiva? I've never been there before," I muse, pretending like his accent isn't a dead giveaway to his origins. But, hey, I'm just trying to smooth this thing over. I swear Mike doesn't have any social skills.

"It's a beautiful place. I actually miss it."

"What makes it so beautiful?" I ask curiously as I ignore Mike's finger as he aggressively prods my leg.

"The whores, mostly." Zevran grins at my bemused expression. "I jest, well, partially. I'm from Antiva City, a gem of a city; it's a port city so you can smell the salt and the fish on the air." The elf starts to look wistful and I no longer think he's even talking to me as he continues, "The people are as beautiful as they are dangerous-"

"Because of the Crows, right?" Mike asks, interrupting Zevran's brief monologue.

The rogue's eyes darken and focus on Mike with a startling intensity. "Yes. Assassins do tend to be dangerous."

"The Crows?" I furrow my brow as I try and keep up. "They're a group of assassins, I take it? How do you know that, Mike?"

His pale cheeks redden. "I _do_ read, sis."

"Huh," I cross my arms, "you read some strange things, bro."

_I can spot a lie a mile away when it comes from Mike. What's going on?_

A fine blond eyebrow rises and I throw Zevran a lopsided grin. My grin is painfully forced, however. Something doesn't sit well with me. Mike has only been in this world for a few months, tops, and it's doubtful that Carrow would give him access to books. Hell, Carrow limited any and all interaction with me and Kiri to feeding times; and Carrow actually _likes_ me. So, Carrow wouldn't give Mike access to books. And it's highly improbable that Mike stumbled across a damn library on his hike in the secluded Frostback Mountains. So, how did he come to have this knowledge?

Zevran clears his throat. "It would be best if we all got some rest." He gestures towards the portholes and the orange light that filters into the crowded, barrel-filled room. "We wouldn't want to be tired when we get to Kirkwall, no?"

He seems to have completely closed himself off thanks to Mike and his Crow talk. I can only guess that that's because this Zev guy is one of them or _used_ to be one of them- both are viable options. He definitely has that arrogant (but completely justified) air about him; something that Isabela would point out to me on a couple of occasions when we would do some smuggling gigs together and stumble across some unsavory characters. She'd always say, "Watch out for that one. See how perfectly he blends into the crowd? That's an assassin. They train for _years_ to get that good. If you ever meet someone like that, watch your back." With this in mind, I try to mend the bridge my brother so carelessly burned.

"My brother is a bit of a scholar," I lie with a casual shrug as I sit down. "He likes to be able to point out to everyone how smart he is. Call it a character flaw, but it comes in handy sometimes."

I'm graced with smile and the elf replies politely, "I see. Well, I took no offense. Antiva _is_ known for its Crows. Assassinating monarchs is practically a tradition."

_Bridge: Still burned._

* * *

I have a plan. A shaky, flimsy plan. My plan is to get to Kirkwall and then head to some other city in the Free Marches. As terrible as it sounds, I don't want my volatile brother to have a run-in with my mage employer (or _former_ employer, to be exact), Merrill, or, God forbid, _Anders_. It's funny how I pause my planning to think about how my brother being a rampaging mage killer will probably give Anders even more reason to look down his nose at me. But whatever. Moving on. After I find a place to settle, I'll return to Kirkwall to smooth things over with Hawke and check in on my friends. _This_ is my plan.

It has many holes in it, of course, but it's the best I can come up with at the moment. Besides, I've never been all that great at planning. I'd always choke when job interviewers would ask me the whole "where do you see yourself in x years" question. I'd say, "Working here!" and then never get a call back. Bastards. But anyway, first I need to settle some disconcerting issues before I even reach Kirkwall. I watch as the elf seems to drift off to sleep, which takes a couple of hours since I'm sure he knew I was creepily watching the whole time no matter how hard I tried to hide it.

Although it pained me to have to do something so weird, I don't want to talk to Mike with someone else listening and it's not as though any of us are allowed on deck since we aren't even supposed to be here. Believe me, if I could I would drag Mike up top and grill him like a cheese sandwich about his new-found knowledge. I've been here _way_ longer than him and I don't have even half his knowledge about this world! Sneaking a glance at Zevran, I whisper, "Mike? Are you awake?"

In the pale blue light, my brother's lumpy form shifts. "Yeah. What's wrong?"

Gathering my courage, I ask, "What was the name of the book you read? The one about Antiva?"

He pauses. Dammit, he _pauses_. It may have only been for a beat, but my stomach sinks anyway. Mike has never been a good liar, at least not with me. While my mom was able to lie to my face about Mike's parentage for years and I lie so often that it could be my profession, Mike didn't inherit the deceitfulness gene. My mom and I respond fluidly to questions when we lie and we keep an even tone (for the most part) while Mike hesitates. And right now, he hesitates _and_ he stumbles over his own words. "It was called _M-Mystical Lands: A Journey Through Thedas,_ " he replies in the coolest tone he can muster.

"Who was it written by?" I ask in a deadlier voice than I had intended.

Now he looks at me. The ship's spacious hold seems to shrink when I see the reservation in his dark eyes. I'm suddenly very much aware of my surroundings. The tang of uncleaned wood, the musk of pitch, even the elf's odd blend of leather and earth becomes almost overpowering. My fingers busy themselves with picking at a splinter that protrudes from the barrel behind me as Mike snaps out, "Silas Adler."

" _God_ , Mike!" I hiss as the splinter lodges into my index finger, "Could you be worse at lying? Silas Adler? _Really_? That's just your surname combined with the name of the kid back in Gwaren!"

Even in the blue light his cheeks blaze red. "I didn't memorize the name of the author. Who has time for that shit, anyway? And why do you want to know? What, are you gonna go find it and buy it so you can read about Antiva? You've been here for _years_ and never bothered to learn about the place you're inhabiting, so what changed now?"

I ignore his barb and get straight to the point. "Then why lie about the author's name? Why not say that you forgot it?"

"I-I…"

"Michael." I'm gripping his shoulder now even as the splinter makes my finger throb. "How do you know all of this information about Thedas? First you knew about Gwaren and Denerim- which I didn't question at first- and then it was the Circle, the Chantry, and now the _Crows_. _What's_ going on?"

I don't know why he's lying. Is the truth really that terrible? Truth be told, I thought he knew all this stuff because he _maybe_ stole books or something when he escaped from Carrow. But there's a war going on behind his eyes. He turns his face away from me and I bore holes into his strong profile. The pale column of his throat jerks as he swallows and he wipes a thin sheen of sweat from his brow and pulls up the collar of his coat with quick, erratic movements. Dark eyes watch Zevran for a few moments, as if contemplating something, before Mike's thin lips begin moving ever so slightly. It takes but a couple of seconds before any sound begins to come out. "It's a game."

"What?"

He's almost white now. "This place... it's from a game."

" _What_?"

"Dammit, Billy." Mike turns to face me completely. "This world, Thedas, is from a fucking video game. Dragon Age." He frowns at my blank expression. "I know it sounds weird, trust me I think it's strange as shit as well, but I'm telling you the truth. Back where we came from, this place is fictional."

Something tickles my brain. The feel of smooth plastic in my hand, a slight weight, and a slickness of protective film; I can feel it all. A fluorescent green outline flashes before my eyes in the dark hold. I close my eyes and see a white background and a splash of blood red in a strange pattern that sort of resembles a... dragon. There's a man there, too; centerfold on that dragon made of blood. He's familiar. Dark hair, golden eyes, sharp features. But he's wielding a sword, which is unfamiliar and doesn't look right. I remember wrapping it all up in paper patterned with cartoon trees, slapping an oversized gold bow on the whole thing, and covertly stuffing it under the Christmas tree at my mom's.

My mom had yelled at me for getting it for Mike, for getting him an M-rated game (oh, the horror!). But she relented when Mike asked her to let him play it (as she _always_ relented to him) and he loudly claimed that he _was_ mature. He sweetly offered to play it with me and I snidely pointed out that it was single-player only, my ego still smarting from that verbal thrashing my mom gave me. I was promptly yelled at again for being rude to my little brother and I left to go celebrate Christmas with Cheyenne whose parents lived all the way in San Antonio.

I was so angry that I blocked out the memory. Now I wish I hadn't, because that man on the cover of the game was clearly Garrett Hawke; a warrior Hawke, sure, but Garrett Hawke nonetheless. It's no wonder he struck me as odd when we first met; other than him being a mage, of course. I _knew_ him. I had felt like I had seen him before and I really _had_. He was on the cover of a violent video game. He was the main character. The protagonist. The _hero_. And I've been antagonizing him at every turn and even _flirting_ with him in my own weird way and implying that I want to get into his magical pants.

"Shit."

* * *

"So, who are you friends with? What kinds of relationships do you have with the characters?"

A dull ache pulsates at the front of my skull, bleeding its subdued pain into my brain. I believe Mike immediately thought that after he told me the truth about Dragon Age, he was owed some answers of his own; namely every little nuance of my roughly two year existence in this world with an emphasis on my relations with Hawke and company. I haven't answered a single one of his inquiries nor have I entertained his whimsical guesses on where I stand in relation to some abstract friendship-rivalry scale with the others.

I'm still reeling a bit from this discovery. Sadly, it's not the weirdest thing I've heard of considering the whole dead-and-resurrected-by-a-blood-mage thing I've got going on. But still, it's pretty damn high up on the list of weird shit. The whole thing begs the questions: Did the people who made the game know about this? Do people here know about the game? And, most importantly, is this place even real _?_ Okay, that last one is stupid because, hey, I'm here. But _still,_ as I have this sudden existential crisis, Mike continues to blabber on about people I know whom he probably knows _better_ than I do even though he's never even physically met them.

"Did you get Sebastian yet? Is that a romance option for you? Not that I really wanna know since the idea of you taking a trip to the heavy petting zoo with a dude makes my skin crawl, but if he  _is_ then you really _have_ changed since you usually flirt with everyone." Mike pauses to glance at the slumbering elf.

I stare at a barrel in front of me and groan, "Oh, sweet Jesus. _Stop it_. I'm not talking about my lack of a sex life with you, kid. We already had the birds and the bees talk, let's not make it weird."

After grimacing, Mike continues, "Why is your hair green, by the way? You know dyes are a thing here, right? I know you like to stand out but considering what we are you should try and be more discreet like you said before. Although, you _could_ just order whoever sees you to forget that they saw you..." A finger prods me in the side. "Anyway, have you dealt with Merrill and her mirror yet? What was the outcome? I kinda screwed up on that part and a bunch of people died. I have a soft spot for the little weirdo."

"Mike," I snap and feel a twinge of guilt as I see him jump from my peripheral vision, "can you please stop talking? I'm kinda having an existential crisis at the moment because you just told me I'm living- _we're_ living in a friggin' _video game world_! What's next? Pac-Man? Am I gonna end up being Pinky's bodyguard?"

"If it makes you feel any better, it's a book world, too," my brother responds matter-of-factly.

"That _doesn't_ help!"

"All right, all right," Mike sighs. "I've thought about this a lot since I got here and realized where I was. The only thing I can conclude is that it's some sort of parallel or alternate universe where a totally made-up world is now the 'real world.'" Dark, carnelian eyes watch me carefully. "Does that make you feel any better? If not, I can just explain it in one word."

I blink dolefully at my baby brother and ask, "What's the one word that can explain all of this?"

"Magic."

I deadpan. "Shut up."

"I will if you answer one question." When I reluctantly nod my head, my brother asks slyly, "What's your relationship with everyone?"

Annoyed, I take the bait. "I'm friends with a pirate named Isabela, a dwarf named Varric, an elven mage named Merrill, and a dog named Biscuit," at this he snorts, but I carry on vehemently, "I have _friend_ ships, I don't have any romantic relationships. Why are you so concerned about this, anyway?"

My baby brother's amused expression melts away and is replaced with a certain severity. "Because I know that if you get involved, and I mean _really_ involved, with any of these people, you're doomed to fall with them..." I begin to feel uneasy up until his eyes brighten. "It's a pretty fucked up game. The ending was really messed up."

As much as I'd like to brush his doomsaying off, his comment about all of my companions being doomed rings true. Each and every one of them has a major flaw that could bring them to a grim end. For starters, three of them are mages, _apostates_ , who could end up in the Circle or at the end of some Templar's blade. One of those mages dabbles in blood magic, so she has already signed her death wish. And the others? Fenris is hunting for revenge on a mage, Varric and Isabela deal with some unsavory characters on a near daily basis, Carver threw himself to the Templars, and Aveline has jeopardized herself just by being acquainted with Hawke.

And I'm doomed even without them. I've already been mistaken for a mage more than once, I have a complete psychopath lurking in my head like my brain is his favorite vacation home, I tend to gush blood out of every orifice after I both intentionally and unintentionally screw with people's minds, and I have an adorable little brother who could potentially snap my neck like a pocky stick. Not to mention he seems to vacillate quite unpredictably between being his usual self- the self I remember- and acting like he's dissociated from the world. So, it doesn't really matter if I get "involved" with any of my companions or not. My grave has already been dug and the headstone was picked out long ago.

"I don't think it matters if I get involved with anyone or not. My ability is sure to get me in trouble sooner or later," I say in the most neutral manner I can come up with.

"What do you mean? Have you shown it to anyone?"

"I've already manipulated one companion that I know of into liking me," I confess gravely and a bit shamefully.

_Hawke did say that I was messing around with Carver…_

Mike perks up, interested in hearing a little more. "Really? Who? How?"

I can't help but grimace at his morbid curiosity. "Carver and I don't know when I did it, I just know that I _did it_. Apparently I've tried to do it to others but it didn't work."

My brother tuts, "Well, based on what I know from the game, some spells only work on people and creatures that don't pass a certain resistance check." A grin stretches across his face. "It only makes sense that _Carver_ is the only one who didn't have a high enough mental resistance to combat your efforts at influencing him."

My brow furrows. "Why does that 'make sense' and why are you grinning like that?"

"It makes sense because Carver is a punk-ass bitch."

I gawk, "Wh-? You don't even _know_ him! There's no need to be so rude."

"Yeah, well I know _of_ him and that's enough for me. I don't like the kid," Mike snaps.

"Kid? He's _older_ than you, so you know." Crossing my arms, I frown at my brother. "Last I checked, he's nineteen… or twenty now? You're just a pup in comparison, kiddo."

"So what? Do you like him? You sure are defending him like you like him or something. Do you like-like him?" Mike asks, talking in his usual mile-a-minute fashion that he saves specially for me.

I hold up a hand to shut him up. "Okay, first off: what are we in, middle school? Second, I'm defending him because he isn't here to defend himself." I frown at that logic. "I mean, sure I've said bad things about Hawke behind his back to Isabela, but-"

"Wait, _Hawke_? And you said ' _his_ back'." My brother inches closer in anticipation. "Hawke is a _guy_?"

I beat away a mental image of Hawke as a woman as I reply flatly, "Uh, duh?"

A large hand waves me off. "No, you wouldn't get it. He's the main character and the main character can either be played as a guy or a girl. Nice to know that he's a guy. What's his class?"

"Class?"

He lists off impatiently, "Warrior? Rogue? Mage?"

My upper-lip twitches in irritation. "Mage."

"Hm. Yeah, that makes sense. So, everything is following the formula so far." Dark eyes narrow at me curiously. "And you like him?"

"You mean, do I _like-like_ him?" I smirk.

"Shut it. You blushed when you mentioned him. You're kinda easy to read. However..." He tilts his head and squints at me. "If you like him why do you say bad stuff about him behind his back? Are you a little bully on a playground? Remember mom would always feed you that bullshit about guys liking you if they picked on you?"

"I say bad things about him because he's a grump. I don't know why everyone keeps asking." A frown tugs at the corners of my mouth. "And I never believed that crap mom tried feeding me. I always beat those boys up."

Mike looks horrified. "Oh, God. You _like_ him."

"What? Just _shut up_."

And thankfully he does, but not before shooting me a condescending smirk. Chewing on my lip, I look away. A trail of drool leaks from the corner of Zev's mouth and his breathing is relatively heavy, however I don't think he's really in a deep slumber. This realization makes me grateful that Mike and I were only talking in hushed tones for fear of "waking" the man. And even if he _did_ overhear us, he'd have to solve one little problem: Who in their right mind would believe him? This tale is so convoluted and batshit crazy that even _I'm_ having a hard time buying it. Still, I'm suddenly very antsy, so I take to polishing Slicer with a bit of cloth from my bag to ease my nerves. The slow, repetitious movements usually calm my frazzled nerves. Or it _would_ if Mike didn't insist on carrying on a conversation.

Beside me, I hear Mike shift to sit facing me. "How do you have such a nice weapon? And nice chainmail? And nice clothes? You must have a lot of money."

"Isabela got the sword for me," I reply casually, speaking slowly in an attempt to get him to slow his own roll.

I barely catch the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth as he says, "Really? You're good friends?"

"I'd say so. We've known each other for about two years."

"How'd you get the other stuff? Did you get a job in the two years that you've been here?"

_I loot the bodies of my enemies and get paid to pimp myself out as hired muscle._

No. No, I can _not_ tell my baby brother what I really do for a living. Although I may have lost my way here and I may have completely ditched my moral code in the name of survival, I won't have my brother knowing that he's related to a common criminal. Sure, there's nothing _that_ common about me considering I'm a blood mage's thrall and I was at one point the go-to girl for smugglers that needed a bit of muscle on their side, but I'm still a criminal.

"I make handmade trinkets," I lie as I begin to rub Slicer vigorously. "You know, bracelets and the sort. Nobles love that shit. They think it's quaint that a poor person knows how to make pretty jewelry."

"Bullshit." Mike frowns.

A heavy sigh escapes me as I finally look up at him. "Listen, I'm not above doing menial things to make money. I once dressed as a giant empanada and danced on a street corner for hours during the blazing summer heat when I worked at a taqueria. I made twenty bucks that day. I've done some stupid, degrading shit for money before. Making jewelry is nothing to me. In fact, it's a step up from my previous jobs back home."

He's quiet for a moment before asking, "You're a mercenary, right?"

"What?"

"You're close friends with a pirate, Billy. You said so yourself."

"I'm _not_ a mercenary. And parrots are close friends with pirates, too. Does that make them mercenaries?"

_How many levels of stupid do you have, Mina?_

"Let me guess, you get paid to protect people? You've always had that fire about you; never taking shit from anyone and always wanting to stick up for others." My brother grabs my hand and I'm jolted by the sudden contact.

"H-Hey…"

Dark eyes watch me intently. "That's how you got that scar on your face, right? You were protecting someone? And that's why you have that big, pointy sword- that thing isn't for show. You make money by guarding people. And seeing as how you don't have the armor of any city guard, I can only guess that you're too ashamed to tell me what you really do because the people that you guard are considered criminals which, by extension, makes _you_ a criminal."

"Mike-"

"I'm not saying you _are_ one," he adds hastily, glaring. "I'm just saying that I already figured out that you're a mercenary. I've been thinking on it since we found each other."

I frown as I look down at our hands. "Yeah. Well, I started off as a smuggler but moved on to working for Hawke as a bodyguard of sorts. I've never been too great at sneaking, so even when I  _was_ smuggling I usually just stuck to guarding."

"Really?" Michael chuckles, "You're pretty small. How bad could you be at sneaking around?"

I snort, "You'd be surprised."

"Well, just know that... I'm not put off." His pale cheeks color as he struggles to articulate his feelings. "I mean, I'm fine with whatever you do. Whatever you did to survive... I understand." He removes his large hand from mine and I'm left cold. I'm... surprised. I mean, I know that Mike isn't a fool but I hadn't expected him to have me all figured out already. And the physical contact bit and the whole kumbaya talk? My baby brother has _never_ been one for that sort of thing. The kid grew out of the whole "emotional" thing when he turned eleven, which is the year I told him he transformed into the Ice Prince.

Of course he didn't take too kindly to that and he called me a moron, but it was hard to take him seriously when his voice cracked. And _of course_ he got even angrier when I laughed about that. The memory makes me chuckle to myself but I find that I'm not happy. In fact, I feel an overwhelming sense of melancholy at the memory. Back then, everything was fine. Now, everything is a mess.

_But at least you found him. You have him now and nothing will harm him. Not while you're around._

"Do you want to know what happens?"

Taken aback by his sudden question, I ask, "What do you mean?"

His face his blank, devoid of emotion, as he clarifies, "In the storyline, do you want to know what happens?"

My stomach churns. "No." I say with conviction, "Keep that to yourself. Besides, it isn't guaranteed that _anything_ will turn out the way you think it will. We're new variables in the equation, aren't we?"

Mike sighs, "Fine. Have it your way. Just know that I could've saved you a lot of grief if you had let me."

I purse my lips at the thought. "Yeah, I'll let you rub it in my face when the time comes. And in that same vein… Um, so, about our plans when we get to Kirkwall-"

"We're staying there, aren't we?" My brother interrupts, voice laden with excitement.

_I knew this was coming._

Adjusting myself on my barrel, I glance at a seemingly dead-to-the-world Zev and bite my lip. "Hm, maybe not. I _am_ acquainted with more than one mage, so I don't think it would be the best idea for us to stay in Kirkwall. Though I'm sure the Templars and the dearest Knight-Commander wouldn't mind the strangling of a few mages, I personally don't want anyone to get hurt. Understand where I'm coming from?"

"I won't _hurt_ anyone," Mike complains with a roll of his eyes.

"Look, I'm not gonna mince words with you, Mikey." Lowering my voice to barely a whisper, I pull him closer by the sleeve of his tunic, "I love you to death, kid, but you're a danger to mages and I owe a _lot_ to the mages that I keep company with. I'm not gonna repay them by allowing my kid brother to fling them around like ragdolls."

He shoves away from me. "I _won't_. I've got it all under control."

I ignore the throb in my shoulder from his shove and insist, "You haven't been here long, Mike, and I highly doubt that you've mastered the art of self-control since Matthias."

_You're walking a fine-ass line, Mina._

Dammit, I _know_. But I don't want to risk letting Mike near my mage friends just because my volatile brother _says_ he's in control. What if he loses his cool when he gets a whiff of their magic? Will he kill one of them or will _he_ end up being the one that gets offed? I don't like either scenario or their implied repercussions. If Mike kills one of my allies, _someone_ will want his head for it. If Mike kills Merrill, I'm sure Varric and Isabela will be more than just a little bit pissed. If he kills Anders, there goes the neighborhood healer for the poor (though I'm sure Mike would get kudos from Fenris). And don't even get me _started_ on the laundry list of people who would want my brother skinned alive if he were to even _breathe_ on Hawke.

I'm positive Carver and Mama Hawke would top that list with Aveline close behind. And if one of them were to kill or hurt or even _look_ at Mike wrong? There would be hell to pay and I'm sure I'd burn all my bridges for the satisfaction of avenging my dear little brother. Besides, I already decided that we aren't going to stay in Kirkwall. We're going to shoot through Kirkwall and head to some remote location in the Free Marches to set up shop and then I'll head back to Kirkwall to tie up some loose ends. Good plan? Good plan. Good, flimsy, shitty ass plan. And although I have my doubts about the air-tightness of this plan, I really need to sell it to Mike.

"It wasn't even that big of a deal. It was an accident," Mike insists heatedly, "I swear nothing will happen."

For all my love of the boy, I'm not blind to his faults. I know that he has a certain… _selfishness_ about him. I'd hazard to say "narcissism," since Mike can be absurdly and purposely blind to the needs and wants of others for the sake of furthering and fulfilling his own needs and wants. Even though I'm the one person he's closest to, he's been that way with me ever since he was a child, too. Take for example, if we happened to be drowning. I can guarantee you that if he was nearest to two life rafts, one that could fit one person and another that's a bit further but could fit two people, he would grab the closest one for himself without thinking.

So, I know this about him. Or, rather, I've _known_ this. Still, it raises my hackles that he can't look beyond himself and his own desires to see the bigger picture that just so happens to involve the health and safety of others. Yeah, I want to introduce my brother to my friends. I want to be able to show off my cutie pie baby brother, tell stories of how we grew up, let my friends _into my life_ just a bit. But I'm not so much of a self-centered dumbass that I don't see all the ways that that could blow up in my face. And Mike? On top of being rather self-involved, he was never once told "No" by our mom. I'd hazard a guess that I was the _only_ one to direct that monosyllabic word in his general direction.

However, the kid has never taken "No" as a good enough answer on its own. He usually needs something else to hammer it home. So, I gasp dramatically and put my hand to my mouth as I simply ooze bitter sarcasm. "Oh. _Oh_. That was only an accident, you say?"

"Cut it out with the sarcasm. I'm telling you that I'm _fine,_ " Mike barely grinds out.

I tap my chin thoughtfully and tut, " _Y'know_ , buying yellow onions instead of white ones is an _accident_. Washing a hand-wash-only blouse in the washing machine is an _accident_. Grabbing salt instead of sugar is an _accident-"_

"Stop. I get it."

"Hold on, I'm not done yet." I clear my throat and watch Mike with a stony expression. "Forgetting to do a homework assignment is an _accident_. Calling someone by the wrong name is an  _accident_. Killing a mage, a _man_ , is not an _accident_ , Michael Adler, and it is most certainly a big deal. I know you said that you regretted it and I sympathized with you because I couldn't judge, but don't you _dare trivialize murder_."

The boy is practically fuming as he spits, "So, what? You're just gonna bring this up and rub it in my face forever?"

"No, I'm not. Like I said, I'm no better than you. I've killed many, many people before- which I'm sure you've guessed, considering you already figured out my line of work and because I've told you this all before- but I've always taken responsibility for my actions. Not once did I put my actions on someone else's shoulders; I never blamed the victim even when they were the ones who victimized me first. It was _my_ choice to end their lives."

"You're a fucking hypocrite. You know that, right? Who are you to act all pious?" He at least has the mind to lower his voice back down when he remembers where we are. "Cavorting with pirates and smugglers? At least _I_ had a good enough reason to kill that guy. He was hurting you. And you do what? You kill _for money_."

_But he admitted that he didn't know what Matthias had done after he killed him. Did he forget that?_

I choose to ignore how easily he flip-flopped from accepting what I did to survive to now shaming me for it. Running a hand over my cowl, I sigh, "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Mikey. I just get the feeling that you still don't really realize that what you've done and what you _could_ do isn't inconsequential. You know that murder and assault are a big deal. I _know_ that you know that. But you should know that murder is the same here as it was back home. This isn't a game."

Resigned, he slumps his shoulders. "I get that you're worried about your friends, but I _swear_ to you that I won't hurt them. Besides, if we don't go to Kirkwall, where else can we go?"

I snort, "Don't try pulling a fast one on me. You think Kirkwall is our only option?"

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't," I snap, patience wearing thin, "this is a vast world, Michael. We aren't restricted to Kirkwall."

"But you have a home there," he points out defiantly.

"And? Hate to shatter the illusion, but I'm not some hot-shot millionaire in Kirkwall. I'm nothing more than a squatter; the man I used to live with got murdered. I have no qualms about leaving that rat-hole since the house he left behind _isn't_ mine to claim."

"You lived with a man?"

"Don't try to derail the conversation, buddy. My point is that I don't _have_ to take you to Kirkwall. We can stay on this ship for the rest of our lives for all I care. You just aren't taking a step near my comrades."

Dark eyes glare. "So you care about them more than you care about me?"

I sigh, trying so hard not to roll my eyes, "I _never_ said that, Michael."

"But you said you'd keep me cooped up in a ship for their sake."

I scoff, "So? That doesn't mean I care about them more."

"Yes, it does," he rebukes, eyes narrowed to slits.

"No, it doesn't," I insist heatedly, feeling my cheeks warming.

"Yes, it does!"

"No, it-!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but could you two please lower your voices? I am beginning to feel a _slight_ headache coming on," Zevran pipes up from his spot on the floor, drool dried on his chin, looking both irritated and amused.

My cheeks flush as I whisper, "Sorry."

"Ah, it is no trouble. In fact, I found your exchange quite entertaining if not a bit loud."

"I'm moving to another barrel," Mike states snippily as he picks up his minimal belongings and does just that.

I watch him go wearily, fighting back the desire to tell him that he sounds and looks stupid for moving barrels. The urge to collapse with a groan onto my own barrel is very tempting. I had forgotten what a handful my baby brother can be. He was always a bit of a brat since our mom spoiled him rotten and I did my fair share of spoiling since it was always fun for me to randomly buy little gifts for him here and there even though he rarely wanted for anything. And here's the result of that lack of discipline: the boy moving barrels over my rational refusal to have him live in Kirkwall like what he's doing is as profound and dramatic as packing his things and leaving home in the dead of night.

_Disciplining Mike has always felt like I'm just screaming into the goddamn ether._

"You seem tense."

My eyes shoot from a brooding Mike to a smiling Zevran and I offer him a sheepish grin. "You don't say?"

The assassin chuckles, "An unnecessary observation, I know. But it has just occurred to me that you must be very tired both from your travels and then from your recent argument with your brother. Such physical and emotional strain..." Zev looks up at me from beneath his lashes. "You know, there is a certain massage-"

" _You know_ , I'm right here and I have no problem with wringing your neck," Mike calls from his isolated barrel. "Make another pass at my sister and the captain will come down in two weeks time to find that he's missing a passenger."

Zevran feigns a hurt look. "You wound me. Such a cruel lad. Are you sure you are related to our lovely Mina?"

"I'll show you cruel."

_God... Two weeks of this?_


	33. Never Let Me Down

**24\. Never Let Me Down**

I'll admit that it was my fault for pissing my brother off. Yes, I could have easily just agreed to just letting him hang around my companions despite the fact that I saw him break a mage's neck purely because he wanted to- because it _felt nice_. That would've saved me a hell of a lot of grief. It would've been a quick fix. Let the boy have what he wanted and be done with it. But in terms of the  _future_? No. And Mike did _not_ appreciate how unyielding I was (and still am, thanks) about my decision.

For a week I faced my brother's passive aggressive wrath; he wouldn't talk to me, much less look at me, and he was very snippy with Zev. In fact, the only time Mike _did_ acknowledge my existence was so he could hiss into my ear, "In the first Dragon Age game, you're given the option to either spare Zevran's life or end it. Guess what I picked?" Needless to say, I made sure to keep the two away from each other after that. And while we're on the subject of things I could've done better, I should have seen the _gaping_ hole in my plan to avoid Kirkwall- other than the obvious fact that we were set to dock in Kirkwall itself.

_Supplies_. We ran out of supplies on our third day abroad and by the looks of it we can't even make a journey to friggin' _Sundermount_ on what little we have between us. We'll most likely end up as corpses if we even attempt to get further up into the Free Marches, unless we resort to raiding caravans... Yeah, that's _not_ going to happen. I'll not have my brother become a petty criminal on my watch. Luckily, though, I was given an opportunity to "earn" food so I could feed my brother. During the trip, I was requested to play a song for the captain after one of the crew members heard me singing a tune as I polished Slicer.

I didn't eagerly belt out any songs like a Disney princess but I didn't refuse, either. Not like I was given much of a choice after our food ran out. It was either have my brother starve or play songbird for the Orlesian with his fancy facial hair and brightly colored coat. I debated giving him something from my homeland, but figured he wouldn't appreciate me busting out with Ice Cube's  _Check Yo Self_. So, I stuck with a song I heard a million at The Man. I was supplied with a lute and I played my tune before shuffling back below deck like a crab. The process repeated for another couple of days before we docked.

At first, when we docked in the dead of night nearly an entire _week_ ahead of schedule, all of Isabela's horror stories about travelers being sold into slavery filled my head. "It's pretty common for refugees to be sold to slavers en route to their destination. Usually the exchange will happen out at sea where the travelers can't escape," she had explained nonchalantly during a smuggling gig that turned nasty when slavers showed up. That was my first encounter with slavers and my first time smuggling escaped slaves into Kirkwall.

After that job, my comrades had clapped me on the shoulder and congratulated me on being a "peddler of flesh." It was meant as a joke but it still churned my stomach to hear it. And it frightened me to hear that it was _common_ for unsuspecting individuals to be sold into slavery. With this in mind, I was about to impale the first person to come below deck when suddenly Mike gasped, pressing his face against the porthole as he gazed up at The Twins. For me, The Twins have always been a rather grim sight- their woeful faces clutched in their hands.

And Mike didn't paint them in a prettier light when he started spouting trivia about them being Tevinter constructs and something about a chain net. Of course I didn't pay much attention to him, my mind working on overdrive to slap together a haphazard plan to get to my home _unseen_ in order to gather supplies and then get the hell out of Dodge. Oh, with Mike on my tail. I was so preoccupied with having my feelings hurt that my brother was ignoring me that I didn't plan for any of this. Damn. I'm still trying to work through things as we stand, side by side, at Kirkwall's docks.

"Well, what now? Your dearest _Zev_ is long gone and we're still sitting pretty," Mike states, all snark.

"Gimme a second," I growl as I stare into the haunting darkness that is Kirkwall at dusk.

It's true, though. The second we docked, Zevran's goodbyes were spilling off of his lips like honeyed wine. The captain had barely enough time to wish him a nice evening as the elf took off. My only guess is that Zev's on the run, given that he wasted no time bolting from the ship's hold after planting a swift kiss on the back of my hand. An assassin on the run? The idea is a bit laughable since usually it's assassins that people are on the run _from_. Assassins going after an assassin, maybe? Well, that would explain why he got all tense when Mike mentioned the Crows. That would make a wonderful romance novel, actually. The mystery, the _intrigue_ , the-

"Uh, earth to Bill? Some dude is coming towards us," Mike says irritably as he flicks my forehead.

Smacking his hand away, I scowl. "It's probably just some-" I practically choke on my words as I hiss, "Hide and shut up!" I forcefully shove Mike behind a stack of barrels teeming with rum the second I lay my eyes on the familiar figure sauntering over. I can only hope the fool didn't notice us before I could stash my brother away like a teenager trying to hide a pack of smokes from their parents. It figures, doesn't it? My primary goal on this endeavor was to remain unseen by anyone I'm acquainted with and that's the first thing that happens practically the second I disembark.

But my plan hasn't been blown to hell just yet. I can still swing this in my favor. Douglas is the biggest idiot I've ever met. A _pretty_ idiot. If you were ever to find yourself in a confrontation with Douglas Bray, all you would have to do is say "Oh, you're _so_ handsome" and he'd forget he was even about to kill you as he'd go on to shamelessly flirt and none-too-subtly flex his admittedly impressive muscles. As the man gets closer, I relax my posture and pretend that I'm surprised to see him. "Doug?" I ask, feigning gleeful shock.

Eyes blue enough to melt my soul peer at me from the darkness. "Mina?"

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Mm-hmm, fancy that," he drawls, eyeing me up and down to the point that I'm tempted to take my boot off and throw it at him. The stocky brunet with the doll-like face comes a little closer before reaching into his rough leather jerkin and producing a small waterskin. He offers it to me but I smile and shake my head- Douglas may be a simpleton but I had heard a few nasty rumors about him drugging women the last time I was in Darktown. Isabela said they weren't true but that I should also take those rumors as a lesson to not accept drinks from disgustingly handsome men. Fine advice, Isabela.

I keep this in mind when he insists on me taking a drink and I offer him a dirty glare in response. Douglas shrugs and pops open his waterskin. Judging by the way the skin on my face practically melts off the second the stench hits me, the contents must be paint thinner or a home brew of some heavily alcoholic beverage. Rocking back on my heels, I steal a glance at the barrels and ask, "Isn't it a bad idea to drink the hard stuff so far from home?"

Doug walks over toward the barrels and throws himself onto one. "I haven't seen much of you 'round lately," he says suddenly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's not surprising. I haven't been in Kirkwall for the past two and a half months," I laugh and hide a frown when I realize just how long it's been.

Blue eyes pierce me. "Even before then."

I sigh and lean against a barrel next to him, "All right. What's this about? Is this a riddle or something?"

"I've been meaning to talk to ya. For a while, I mean." Doug frowns as he puts his drink away. "Word on the street is that you got yourself on the straight an' narrow, employed full time by Garrett Hawke."

"Disappointed, are we? And I'd hardly consider working for Hawke the 'straight and narrow.' Guards still watch me with critical eyes and Chantry sisters still gasp in my presence," I joke but the brunet doesn't laugh, doesn't even offer me a smirk. Ooh, boy. I'm on edge now.

"Even still, the underworld lost a damn fine guard. I wouldn't'a believed it myself if I hadn't seen Hawke totin' you around like an Orlesian lapdog." The Fereldan shifts his weight and leans forward to look at me. "Seen you two a _few_ times, lookin' thick as thieves."

_I don't like where this is going…_

With a grin I simper, "Ooh. Jealous, are we?"

"'Course not!" Doug flushes and I roll my eyes at how obvious he is. "I know you don't got no taste for apostates- _everybody_ knows that. 'Sides, he might find himself in the Circle real soon. Nobles won't take too kindly to hearin' that a _mage_ is fixin' to move in."

There are a few things that I need to address before I can form a coherent response. One, I didn't know my phobia of mages was so well-known. It's a little embarrassing, actually. Two, what the hell is this nonsense about the Hawkes moving into Hightown? And three, is Douglas Bray actually _threatening_ Hawke right now? In front of _me_? Hawke's (former) bodyguard? My blood starts to boil as I bristle and demand, "What are you talking about, Bray?"

Taunting blue eyes appraise me and the smuggler slurs, "Hawke's mum filed a petition to get the old Amell estate back and Hawke's got the funds from the Deep Roads expedition and the pull from his ties with the Viscount to see it through. It's all everyone talks about."

So, Hawke made it big? Good for him, I guess. Though being under the scrutiny of the nobles will make it a lot harder for him to keep his magical little talents hidden. Still, it was no big secret that Garrett Hawke wanted to move his family out of Lowtown so it's not as though I'm surprised. It's just... _Hightown_? I thought, if anything, he'd move out of the Templar and criminal infested cesspool that is Kirkwall. Then again, there _is_ the matter of Carver now being part of the Order. I'm sure that probably played no small part in Hawke's decision to keep his family here.

"Good for Hawke," I say aloofly if a bit frigidly.

"Yeah, good for the _mage_ ," Douglas puts extra effort into emphasizing the last word like I didn't hear him the first time.

_Keep pressing that fact and see what it gets you, ya little bitch._

I offer him a thin-lipped smile even as I cuss him out twelve ways to Sunday in my head. "Is there a problem?"

The smuggler shrugs his broad shoulders and cocks his head as if he's totally disinterested. "Got the same problem as most people, I suppose. I don't like apostates. They're dangerous. _Unstable_." Blue eyes cut to me at that last word.

Self-control is slowly slipping from me as I scoff and cross my arms. "You've worked with apostates before. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you've even worked _for_ them from time to time. What's the big deal now?"

"I did and I remember. Difference is, I was gettin' _paid_ ," the smuggler replies hotly.

My teeth grind together. "So, what? Are you threatening to turn Hawke over to the Templars unless someone pays you for your silence?"

"Oh, I'd _never_ do that," he says with a sickeningly sweet smile, "but I'm sayin' that it's only a matter of time before that information reaches the nobles. They like to keep a clean neighborhood."

I click my tongue. "You're trying to extort me right now. Hawke's made it big and you're feeling greedy. That's it, right?" I don't wait for him to answer as I press on relentlessly, "The thing is, I haven't worked for Hawke in a while now. What makes you think that _I'd_ be willing to pay to cover his ass?"

Now he crosses his arms. "Said it before. He totes you around like his favorite pet. You two are close, it's obvious to see."

"I thought _you and I_ were friends?"

"Smugglers don't make friends."

_He picks now, of all times, to be cunning?_

I always knew Douglas was a little shit. But he's right. Smugglers don't make friends... to a certain extent. Smugglers make allies; and Douglas and I haven't worked a job together in so long that our status as "allies" has lost all meaning. He has no use for me on jobs anymore, he can't come to me when he gets a dangerous job and ask for me to watch his back because I've been employed full-time by Hawke for a while now. And he can't expect _me_ to call on him when I need a good archer since Hawke doesn't like outsiders joining in on our missions.

Our time as partners is long gone. Now my only worth to Douglas is that I'm pretty valuable as a quick cash grab due to my ties with Hawke. Most of the time, Hawke performs dangerous favors for people in exchange for their silence (or so he thinks) and Varric ties up the loose ends. If Varric thinks there's even a small chance that someone will talk, they get to have a friendly meeting with Bianca. Even Aveline has helped Hawke stay under the with the Guard. However, even with all of these precautions, Hawke doesn't allow himself to be careless. He doesn't perform magic when there's a chance that there could be witnesses. So, how could _Douglas Bray_ , the biggest idiot in Kirkwall, have found out?

I squint at the massive man and smirk. "You really think Hawke is an apostate?"

He glowers in response. "I seen him use magic to set a man on fire."

_Well, that_ does _sound like Hawke…_

I chuckle behind my hand, "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. You can't convince me otherwise, Mina," Doug's blue eyes glare at me defiantly and I want so badly to slap that look off of his face. "Not even with your silver tongue."

This is a problem. This is a _big_ problem. I'm no Aveline. I'm no Varric. Hell, I'm no _Hawke_. I don't have the power or the resources to get this man to keep his mouth shut. I don't have the city guard at my beck and call, I don't have Bianca to help me intimidate anyone, and I don't have magic to roast this asshole right here and now. But I _do_ have Slicer. The only downside to this is that Douglas has watched me fight on more than one occasion; he knows where my weak points are and what strategies I rely on the most. As for my magic? If I do recall correctly, there's a little, lovable, magic-devouring fiend sitting just on the other side of these barrels.

_Hm. Save Hawke and get murdered or let this all sort itself out?_

"Douggie, why don't you come a little closer?" Pouting my lips, I beckon with my index finger and snag his collar once he foolishly leans into my grasp. "You said you saw him set a man on fire?"

He narrows his eyes and tries to pull away. "I _did_."

Gnawing on my lip, I crane my neck like I'm stretching and sneak a look over the top of the barrels. A dirty, boyish face frowns up at me. My eyes narrow and I subtly nod my head to the side, attempting to gesture to Mike to clear out of the area. Dark eyes blink rapidly for a moment before my baby brother nods and starts to crawl away on his hands and knees. Thank God for sibling bonds! I watch him go for a little bit longer and return my gaze to the uneasy smuggler when Mike makes it into an alley. I can only hope that he's far enough away. Being murdered would sure put a damper on things.

Taking a steadying breath, I ask, "Won't you look into my eyes when I speak to you, Doug? It's only good manners."

My former associate rolls those baby blues. "Fine. What is it that ya want? I already told ya what I seen and I ain't changin' my story, even if you let me bed ya. The amount of coin I can get is worth more than a tumble in the sheets with you."

_I might've just thrown up in my mouth._

Stroking his cheek with my thumb, I blink up into his smirking face. "I want you to answer me whenever I ask you a question. _Okay?_ "

The change is immediate. That sparkling, conniving glint in his eyes vanishes and is replaced with nothing. It's a cold, detached nothingness; an all-encompassing emptiness. Yet there's an eagerness in that void- an eagerness to please, to serve, to follow. It's almost as though the smuggler craves subjugation with every fiber of his being. He wants to be ordered. He wants to be commanded. And I find, deep in myself, this almost frightening zeal at the very thought of bending his will to the point of breaking it. I want to feel his will fracture, splinter, shatter.. I want to push him, to shove him, to order him to do atrocious things that will leave him horrified and broken when his head is cleared of the fog of my influence.

I want him to burn for the feel of me in his head, even when he knows that I'll make him do such beautifully terrible things. My heart quivers in my chest; it feels like a weathervane in a storm. A raging tide pulls at me from somewhere within. I've never felt this before. I've never felt anything like this before. And even as my throat dries to the point of strangulation and my eyes water and knees shake, I find that I don't want this feeling to end. This feeling of complete control over someone else. I love this feeling. Yet... The eager emptiness in Douglas' eyes… My stomach churns. My conscience reels. I almost pull back and break the connection.

_Whoa... What the_ hell _was that?_

My voice comes out as a rasp as I shakily remove my hand from the man's face, "You've never seen Hawke cast any spells." I swallow thickly before continuing, "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, I... I've never seen Hawke cast any spells," Douglas responds in an eerily hollow voice.

"There's a good boy," I pat his cheek and an empty smile slowly crawls across his face. "In fact, you think Hawke is _boring_ and not worth a second thought. He's just a refugee who happened to come into a lot of money. You're jealous, sure, but he's so _common_ that you can't keep your mind focused on him for too long. Understand?"

A slow nod. "He's boring. I don't like to watch him."

"He's not a mage."

A slow shake of the head. "Hawke ain't no mage."

"I'm glad that we have an understanding!" I force a smile as I stand and step away from him. Like a rubber band that's been pulled too tight, I feel a strange snap somewhere in the back of my head. And just like that, the smuggler is back into his usual self. Douglas blinks confusedly a few times before shaking his head and standing up. He looks around, taking in his surroundings like he's never been here before. Those blue, blue eyes carefully examine the dilapidated buildings, the narrow, empty roads, and the ominous darkness that always seems to pervade Kirkwall.

Slowly, realization dawns on him and I can tell that he knows where he is. But suddenly his eyes find mine and he tilts his head queerly with a charming little grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. " _Mina_?"

I blink and fidget nervously. "Uh, yes?"

"What are you doin' here? I thought ya left the city!"

_This is a little creepy…_

"I did," I confirm, feeling a bit antsy. "But I'm back now."

"Oh!" He smiles his big, boyish smile. "Well, it's good to have ya back, Mina. Think we can do some jobs together sometime soon? Ain't no guard in the underworld like you."

"Unfortunately, no," I reply at length as I critically examine him. Is he pulling my leg right now?

He shrugs his big shoulders and hooks his thumbs into his belt loops. "Ah, that's too bad. But I guess it's to be expected since you're workin' for that one fella."

My eyes are all over his calm face as I search for something to indicate that he's screwing around. "Which one?"

I watch as the smuggler seems to struggle for a minute before clapping his hands together and going, "Ah! _Hawke_! That's his name! Sorry 'bout that, Mina. That bloke seems to slip my mind every time." He pulls an apologetic expression before nodding his head to me. "Well, if you're just gettin' back, I suppose you'll be needin' your space an' rest an' all that. Have yourself a good one."

And I watch as he goes. His strong form disappears around the corner of a building and I feel a bit lightheaded. I'm alone in the blue night with nothing but shabby buildings towering over me at my front and the tumultuous sea sloshing angrily at my back. Suddenly I find myself leaning against one of the barrels, my legs nothing but jelly as my heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest. Ears pound with blood and my vision blurs and fades. The city turns to black for a moment before I come to, sprawled on the ground with a sharp pain probing at the back of my skull. I can't believe after getting through that mess, I actually _fainted_. I bend a man's will like some beast with godly powers and then I _pass out_?

The inky sky swirls above me. Humid air sticks to my skin as I slowly sit up, running my fingers carefully over the tender knot on the back of my head. Despite the fact that I probably gave myself brain damage, I find that my mind is still working on solving some problems. Sure, I avoided a crisis but I can't help the strange feeling in my stomach- and it's not that I'm about to puke blood like the last time I compelled someone. Oddly enough, I feel no inclination to spew bloody chunks and (after hastily running my hands all over my face just to be sure) I don't have blood streaming from every orifice. I'm _fine_. But am I, really? What was that foreign desire to just... _destroy_ Douglas from the inside out?

I sigh as I roll my neck, "My gosh, you're really twisted, aren't you?"

"Why are you on the ground?"

With a scream lodged in my throat, I look up to see Mike standing before me. "Hey!"

Thick arms cross and my brother asks with mild curiosity, "Did you do your thing? I made sure I was a few blocks away but you started to take too long..." His dark eyes peer down at me. "Are you all right? I waited about half an hour before coming back."

"Ye-Yeah," I stutter as I allow him to pull me up onto my feet. "You didn't run into any trouble, did you?"

He shakes his shaggy dark head. "Nope. It's pretty quiet out."

"A little too quiet."

"Wow. Really? Stop being dramatic," he scoffs.

I shoot him a dirty look as I adjust my cowl. "I'm _not_. For someone who claims to know the ins and outs of this world like the back of his hand, your knowledge on Kirkwall sure is lacking. There are more gangs here than the Guard knows what to do with. Usually I'm able to get around them because I would either stay off the streets at night or I would be in the company of people who have some weight behind their names- like Varric, Isabela, or Hawke."

"Well, haven't you made a name for yourself in the underworld or something, Bill?" My sweet brother asks curiously.

My lip twitches. "Yes, I have. But I won't have anymore street cred if you keep calling me by that ridiculous nickname!"

Mike gives me an incredulous look as he puts his hands on his hips. "Street cred? You're the dorkiest person that I know! How can _you_ have street cred? Sesame Street cred, maybe."

"Hm," I purse my lips and narrow my eyes, "how clever. How long have you been saving that one? Years?"

"Anyway!" He dismisses me by literally grabbing my face and shoving me away before setting off down some random alley. "Where's your home? We're out of supplies and if you really want to get out of Kirkwall so _desperately_ because I'm just so _awful_ , we'll need to stock up before doing so... Unless, of course, you want us to die since you care about your friends' well-being more than your own or even _mine_."

"Don't even start that shit again, you little heathen," I hiss as I stumble after him and drag him down a different alley. "We're going to rest up a bit, restock, and then hit the road. During that time I don't want you setting a foot outside. Got it?"

Maybe I should be insulted when Mike laughs the second he sees my home? Well, he doesn't exactly laugh at how my home _looks_ but more about the _location_ of my home. Although I'm itching to ask what the deal is with his reaction, I remember that I don't want to know any of his strange knowledge about past, current, and future events of this world. I'd prefer to remain ignorant. Why? Because if someone I know is _destined_ to meet a terrible fate, I'll intervene. I'll want to shield my allies from all of the horrible things to come and that will probably throw the universe off balance. I don't trust myself to wield Mike's knowledge. And, frankly, I don't trust Mike to wield it either.

At night, as I curl up in my bed, I watch Mike doze off on Kiriyama's old bed. It was amusing to watch the awe on his face as we made our way through Lowtown. I could tell that the place looked familiar to him when recognition flickered in his eyes at the sight of The Hanged Man. He had wanted to go in even when the cacophony of a bar fight drifted through the humid night. But I had pried him away from the door and ushered him down the street with empty threats tumbling from my lips. My brother was irritated and a bit disheartened but I couldn't risk him coming across my companions. They would ask questions. They would insist that we _stay_. They would unknowingly put themselves in danger. I have a hard time falling sleep.

* * *

Carrow stands before me, and because of the most recent development of him being able to stalk me in the material plane, it takes me a moment to realize that this is a dream. Clouds like blood soaked cotton spiral in the sky overhead, as if ready to form a tornado at any moment. The wind howls, whistling through my hair as my cowl is yanked forcefully away, nearly taking me with it. All around us are great, white-capped mountains of tarnished metal and the snow that crunches beneath me as I struggle to stand is a strange, greenish gray color. This is definitely the most bizarre place that my mind has come up with so far. It's a far cry from the pretty plains and starry skies. I'm sick of it already.

"I must say that I have never witnessed such an intriguing landscape before." The mage's wispy voice floats toward me over the roaring wind. When I'm finally on my feet I turn to shoot Carrow a snarky comment, but he isn't looking at me. He's staring off at something ahead of us. The look on his face is a mixture of confusion and fascination; it's a strange mask that he wears, and I find myself almost reluctant to follow his gaze. Taking a breath, I turn my attention ahead and blink curiously.

There's a door in the craggy face of the mountain before us- right at the base. It's a grand, wooden door with large iron hinges. The wood looks to be some smooth dark oak, and an ornate iron pattern has been hammered into it. Though the wood is fine and smooth, it shows signs of being warped at the doorknob and especially at the strained hinges. "Is that a house in the mountain?" I ask stupidly as I begin to walk over to the door on unsteady legs.

Behind me, I hear Carrow's light steps as he replies carefully, "No. I do not think so."

This is a little weird. Usually the blond mage knows what's what in my head better than I do. When I'm finally right in front of the door, I reach out and run my fingers along its surface. It's just as smooth to the touch as I had anticipated, with only a few splinters here and there that snag and claw at my flesh greedily. You know, it feels quite nice. A soft hum of approval sounds from behind me and I turn my head to glance at the mage over my shoulder. I toss him a hesitant smile. "What is it?"

Pale blue eyes stare past me and the mage prompts me, "See for yourself."

Frowning, I return my attention to the door and gasp. From between the boards of dark wood, a black liquid begins to seep and ooze, bubbling like thick, hot pus. Some horribly foul odor comes along with it and I reel back, watching in horror as the once fine door slowly becomes a black, sludgy likeness of a waterfall. The substance drips down languidly and I catch a whiff of something oddly familiar beneath the musk- there's a certain metallic tang to the stench of putrid rot and decay. Now curious but still wary, I extend my hand forward and run my finger through a rivulet of inky blackness. My fingertip comes back red with blood.

"It would appear that your true potential is awakening," Carrow whispers in my ear and I try not to flinch at his proximity. "Embrace it, my dear."

Suddenly there's a loud bang and I gasp loudly as I awake. Heart pounds like a drum in my chest, adrenaline courses through my veins, and my brain struggles to start up like a rickety old truck with a bad ignition. My hands shake as I struggle to rip the tangled sheets from my legs. Across the room, Mike is already sitting up in bed, dark eyes squinting at the door as someone continues to bang incessantly on it. His hair is a mess of dark brown waves and I'm sure I look no better; his face is twisted in confusion and I _know_ that I'm no better on that count.

Although my brain has already processed the fact that someone is knocking on the door, I'm still disoriented from that weird, abrupt dream. It takes me a few moments before I finally untangle myself and quietly usher Mike up the stairs to Bartlett's old studio. He goes without question and I'm grateful that he's just like me in that he's not a morning person- he's basically a morning _zombie_ like his older sibling. Soft light filters in through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the dust that floats about in the air like little faeries. I'm tempted to peek through the window but I know that whoever is at the door will see the movement and know for a certainty that someone is inside.

Upstairs I hear the faint thuds of Mike's footfalls. It's barely audible but in this moment I believe the mystery person to be some superhero who can hear everything from Mike's footsteps to the blood pounding in my veins as I stand on the other side of the door. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I wait with a dagger pressed firmly to the side of my thigh. The coolness of the steel is the thing that brings me fully awake. Breath catches in my throat. A deep voice calls from the other side of the door, "Lucky! I know you're in there!"

_Varric! How the he- Well, actually that's no surprise._

Of course. Varric _would_ be one of the first people to know that I got back in town not even a few hours ago. He probably went and informed Hawke and the rest of this fact before coming here, too. It's been months. _Months_ since I last saw them all. Relief floods my system for a second before anxiety takes over. Although I'm nervous, although I'm terrified at the thought of any sort of confrontation between Mike and my friends, I can't help the giddy feeling that flutters in my chest as I anticipate seeing my favorite dwarf. Straightening my shirt, putting the dagger away, and quickly running my fingers through my short hair, I open the door a crack.

Golden light nearly blinds me and it takes a minute before I can see the blond dwarf grinning up at me from my doorstep. "Good morning, Lucky."

"Shortcake." I grin widely, genuinely happy to see him. I hadn't realized just how much I really missed the handsome rogue. From his charming smile to his luscious chest hair, Varric is a real treat to see. Opening the door wider, I nearly gasp in horror when I see the person standing next to the dwarf. Big, watery green eyes stare at me from a porcelain face. Before I can even shoot her an awkward grin, the tattooed elf throws herself at me. Lean arms wrap around my neck as the taller woman embraces me before swiftly pulling away, a blush blossoming on her cheeks as Varric chuckles behind her.

"I missed you," Merrill blurts out, the blush on her cheeks darkening as she looks away, internally chastising herself.

I give her a tired smile and throw my arms around her just for the sake of adding to that blush. "Missed you, too. I thought I'd ne- Mm! You smell _really_ good!" I pull away to find her as red as a cherry. "You smell like bread," I elaborate hastily.

"That's because we brought you food, Lucky," Varric informs me from the red elf's side. "You are, by far, the most starved member of our group. Broody doesn't count since he drinks wine."

_Glad to know I'm still considered part of the group._

"Right." I grin as I shake off the thought. "Wine comes from grapes, so it counts as fruit. By that logic, Fenris is also the _healthiest_ of us all."

I'm awarded with an appreciative smile for my joke but there's a certain severity in the dwarf's eyes as he says, "You've been gone nearly three months, Lucky. I was starting to worry."

It comes seemingly from nowhere, like a slap to the face. There was nothing malicious about his tone at all, but the simple statement still hits me with a great force that leaves me momentarily stunned. I know I've been gone for a while, for much longer than I had anticipated. And I'm still shamed by the fact that Varric was one of the people that I left in the Deep Roads. I left _Varric_ down in the Deep! Looking for an out, I pull on a sheepish grin and gesture for the two to come inside. I'm still very much aware of the fact that my dangerous baby brother is upstairs, but it would be suspicious of me to not welcome them inside.

As the elf walks past, she sighs, "Oh, Varric is always so calm even when he says he's worried. I've been worried ever since Hawke showed up without you, Mina. Isabela tried to trick me into thinking that she was you at first, when she arrived with the group."

"She almost had her convinced, too." Varric winks at me as he takes a seat at the table. "But Hawke was in a sour mood when he discovered that it had been over two weeks since you left and nobody had heard a peep from you. His bad mood has a way of killing fun rather brutally, so Rivaini's joke didn't last too long."

I roll my eyes as I lean against the table. "Did he want me to write letters or something?"

"One would have sufficed. Everyone thought you got yourself into some trouble. Even Rivaini was a bit concerned and she was the one to see you off." This time his tone is rather clipped but he gives no indication that he's upset with me, which makes his words sting all the more intensely. He deftly unwraps a loaf of sweet bread, a container of honey, and a waterskin. I fetch some cups and Varric pours my and Merrill's drinks first before serving himself like the gentleman he is. Merrill slathers a slice of bread with honey and hands it to me with a pleasant little smile on her face the whole time and I feel the strangest pang in my chest.

I've missed her more than I thought I would. I've missed the innocent smiles, the playful blushes, and the flashes of seriousness in those wide, expressive eyes. I've missed her, despite her being a mage. I realize with a jolt that her being a mage is inconsequential now. I guess my phobia doesn't extend to mages I'm familiar with. Like Uncle Carl's phobia of cats after one cut his eye so bad that he needed expensive reconstructive surgery. He only liked Mr. Chubby after being exposed to him so much. Other cats? He still crossed busy streets just to avoid strays.

The pretty elf smiles and asks innocently, "Where did you go, Mina?"

A bit irritated that she asked right when I shoved bread into my face hole, I reply with a full mouth, "I went to Ferelden."

Green eyes widen in awe. "Really? My clan used to live there... Why did you go?"

Bread lodges into my throat and I cough out, "I was looking for someone."

"Who? Did you find them?" Merrill queries, eyes serious.

"I... How is everyone?" I shift uncomfortably under the dwarf's intense stare.

"Oh, I've been well," Merrill pipes up, seemingly oblivious to how I dodged her question or simply allowing me an easy out because she realizes how tense I've become. Most likely the latter. "I have kept myself busy with trying to preserve my clan's history. You know..." she adds a bit darkly, looking bothered.

_Right, her Mirror of Erised._

"And Cap?" I ask quickly, trying to distract her from whatever is bothering her.

"Isabela has been disappearing more often," she replies worriedly as she stares into her cup with a furrowed brow. "She says it's private business, though. So I can't really tell you how she has been other than 'fine' because I _do_ see her sometimes and she _does_ look fine, at least. I'm sorry I can't tell you more."

With a chuckle I rub her shoulder and earn myself a blush from the pretty mage. "It's okay, Merrill. I didn't exactly ask you to spy on her before I left."

"I... Right," she giggles nervously. "Um... Varric?"

"I'm sure you know about Junior," Varric states with the world's best poker face on.

Freezing, I stutter, "Er, yeah. I saw him in his shiny armor before I left. For what it's worth, I tried talking him out of it." Shrugging one shoulder, I toss back my water and wipe my mouth. "Truth be told, I think I made things worse."

"Anyone would have made it worse. But you?" Warm brown eyes squint at me. "Nah, I doubt it. If anything, you were probably the person he wanted to see the most."

_That doesn't really make me feel any better. Good try, though._

"What do you mean?"

The rogue shrugs. "Honestly? You were the nicest to him out of everyone. Well, not really _the nicest_ , but you put up with his bullshit when no one else wanted to. At least, that's what Junior thought. You were a friend and Junior thought you weren't his brother's biggest fan. To him, that made you golden."

"I've never really understood the concept of sibling rivalry," Merrill chirps, putting a finger to her bottom lip. "Hawke is a good man and so is Carver. It's sad to me that they aren't closer."

Groaning, I stand and begin to pace. "Carver thought he had something to prove and that Hawke was always in the way of that. That's about the extent of their one-sided rivalry."

From behind me I hear Varric snort, "Exactly. But it might be beneficial to have an ally amongst the Templars."

I glance over my shoulder. "What about that _Thrask_ fellow? He seemed to have a pretty inflated martyr complex."

Brown eyes glint. "I meant an ally who would sacrifice life and limb for Hawke purely for Hawke's own sake. Although Junior gets pouty, he still loves his brother even though you'll be hard pressed to get him to admit it."

"True enough."

After that, we all fall into silence. I don't know what causes the sudden lull in conversation, though. Was it the thought of Carver sacrificing himself for Hawke? Was it the thought of _anyone_ needing to sacrifice themselves? Or that a sacrifice might be necessary some time in the future? Sure, we all owe Hawke a debt of gratitude for offering us each something that we were looking for. He helped Merrill find a new home, got protection for Anders, revenge for that prince guy, and money for me. We all needed something from Hawke. But does that mean we'll make the ultimate sacrifice for him if the time ever comes? I'm not too sure. I have my doubts.

Personally, I don't think _I_ could because I now have someone else to live and fight for. Someone I love and am loyal to above all others. And that someone is still sitting pretty upstairs. The thought makes me glance up warily at the ceiling like Mike might come crashing through it at any moment like some overpowered horror movie villain because of Merrill's presence. I'm grateful that my back is to the dwarf because I'm sure that little look wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Agitated, I begin to bounce on the balls of my feet before turning to the two house guests.

Merrill is swirling her water around in her cup and Varric is watching her with a relaxed smile on his face. But when he hears the scuff of my heel against the floor, he turns his gaze on me. Suddenly, my request for them to leave is lodged in my throat as I'm hit with an overwhelming sense of shame. Ugh. Damn my sensitive conscience. "Look," I blurt and Merrill startles. "Shortcake, um…"

"Yes?" Varric looks amused and I know it's because my cheeks are heating up.

_What are you doing?_

"I'm sorry."

_Oh, no…_

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry," I sigh and look away when Merrill begins looking between us curiously. "I'm sorry for leaving you three down there in the Deep Roads. It just... It was something that I needed to do. I couldn't live with myself if I hadn't done it. But afterward I felt, well, even _now_ I feel conflicted and guilty. You all put your faith in me and I didn't follow through for y'all. I let you guys down and I'm sorry about that. But I'm _not_ sorry for fulfilling my duty as a sister."

"Sister?"

It comes from Merrill and I want to kick myself for forgetting that she was here. How could I forget? I was looking at her literally a minute ago before I began baring my heart to Varric! Pinching the bridge of my nose, I look up at the confused elf and grimace. Of course I knew I was going to have to tell my friends about my brother at some point. There's no way that I could hide it. No way that I could hide _him_. There's no way that I could have him _here_ and not give at least some sort of warning or a heads up to these people. Still, I need to tread carefully and watch my words. I don't want them thinking my brother is a monster.

I lick my lips and start to explain, "When you asked who I was looking for earlier... I was looking for my brother, Merrill, and I found him."

A big grin spreads across her face as she asks excitedly, "Really? A brother? Where is he? Does he look like you? Do you two get along well? Is he older or younger than you?"

With a wave of my hand I get her to go quiet. "He's here, yes, but you can't see him."

Lips pout. "Why not? Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. There's something wrong. But I'll have to explain it later. Just," I start to rub the scarred tip of my nose uncomfortably, "don't come around here anymore for the time being, Merrill. Okay?"

The hurt look on her face stabs me in the chest. "I... All right."

"It's for the best. Truly."

"There's something you're not telling us," the rogue murmurs.

I force a smile and repeat like a broken record, "It's for the best."

"Well, you missed out on a lot of fun, Lucky," Varric replies casually like he wasn't just boring holes into me. "If you haven't already heard, we made a fortune in the Deep Roads. So, there's no hard feelings, all right? You needn't bother going over to Hawke's to beg for his forgiveness on your hands and knees. Although I'm sure he'd enjoy the view," he chuckles.

I scrunch up my face at that. What a weird thing to say. "Okay?"

Varric waves me off. "Speaking of Hawke, we had ourselves a little adventure not too long ago. I thought I ought to tell you that he and Junior were being harassed by the Carta, so the three of us and Blondie went to sort it all out. Remind me to tell you the full-blown, embellished story later." The dwarf suddenly stands whilst gesturing to Merrill, "As much as I hate to cut this short, I think it would be best if we let Lucky freshen up before her meeting with Hawke."

"My _meeting_? What meeting?" I guffaw.

Merrill claps her hands together before jumping up as well. " _Oh_ , that's right! Hawke said that he wants to see you immediately, Mina. He said it was very important but he also wanted us to deliver the food to you and make sure you ate and were rested before going over to The Hanged Man," she's practically breathless as she finishes.

Lips thin into a tight smile as I narrow my eyes at the dwarf and the elf. "How _courteous_."

The rogue shrugs with a mysterious smile. "You never wrote any letters and you never informed any of us that you were back in town. Hawke just wants a bit of face time with you."

Before I can say that I don't think I can handle any one-on-one time with the intimidating mage, the two are already gone. I'm frowning at the door when a creak from behind me catches my attention. Looking back, I see Mike descending the stairs hesitantly. His brow is furrowed as he carefully makes his way down the rickety staircase and plops himself down at the table. Frustration radiates off of him as he begins picking at the bread until I finally get irritated enough with him to tell him to eat it like a normal person instead of pecking at it like a bird. Gosh, he's just as wasteful with food as I remember.

Suddenly he's boring holes into me. "I heard them," he says darkly.

With a quirked brow, I sit across from him. "Yeah?"

"I wanted to see them."

Fingernails scratch into the table. "Mike," I warn tiredly.

"Yeah, I know. You don't need to use your big sister voice on me. I already know that I'm not allowed to see them."

I sigh, "It's for the be-"

"For the best? How? The best for whom?" Michael snaps.

I'm already getting tired of this act. My brother is a very selfish, self-involved person. I know that. That's how he was raised. He was raised by a woman who was so full of herself that she wanted her son to have the same initials as her and go to the same school she went to, grow up in the same neighborhood, get involved in the same extracurricular activities; all in the hopes that he would grow up to be a male version of herself since she "failed" with me.

Marianne Adler. My mom was never really all there in her head after dad left and she screwed up a lot in raising me and my brother (although I like to believe my grandparents and my uncle undid some of the damage that she inflicted). And although I love my mom and my brother, sometimes the extent of their self-centered personalities drives even _me_ insane. Right now, Mike is setting my teeth on edge with his bullshit.

"I'm _not_ going through this with you again." I glare and he glares right back. "I've told you time and time again that I want you nowhere near any of them. It's for everyone's safety. How is that not getting through your skull, Michael?"

"I already told you that I-"

"That you can control it? Right, I heard that the first time. The thing is that if you slip up once, Mike, _just once_ , I don't have the power to keep you safe." I lean forward with my elbows on the table and stare at him intently. "These people may be my friends but like you said, they're dangerous. Listen to your own advice and don't get involved with them."

"But I-"

"No," I snap despite my intense desire to remain level-headed. A defeated sigh escapes me. "I'm done with this conversation and any future conversations like it. Don't bring this up again. I'm warning you, Mikey, if you keep insisting on seeing these people, we'll leave now, without even getting any supplies. I don't care. We'll raid some damn caravans. We just won't stay _here_."

And with that, I get up and start getting ready for my meeting with Hawke. I don't even feel tense about it anymore. After that conversation with Mike, I don't think anything can really faze me at this point. The daze in which I gather water, bathe, dress, and say goodbye earns me no brownie points with Mike. He knows I'm mad at him. He knows that my patience is already lost and that he won't be getting his way this time around. My feet seem to be glued to the floor as I stand before the door. Hesitation keeps me there. Uncertainty. I can't trust my brother to stay put but I can only hope that my little scare tactic had some effect. Mike is still sitting at the table, glaring at the bread like it owes him money, I'm sure.

"I'll be right back," I say, not even turning around before I head out and let the door slam shut behind me.

_Please, don't let this be a mistake._


	34. Come a Little Closer

**25\. Come A Little Closer**

Have I ever really talked about Cheyenne at any great length? I don't recall having done so before. My best friend in my past life was born in Washington state, where she was raised until the age of ten. Her father was some big computer nerd and her family was very, very wealthy for it. Richard Smithson was originally from Texas, so that's why Chey ended up growing up in East Texas, Jasper specifically- the birthplace of her father.

She attended the University of Texas at Austin for a couple of semesters before moving down to the University of Houston to escape her overprotective father, which is where we met. We started off as reluctant roommates in a cramped apartment until we discovered that we had a mutual love: cats. It's funny that that's all it took for us to become the best of friends.

After that, Cheyenne took me everywhere with her and her parents basically adopted me. Her mother, Adela, wasn't exactly very maternal towards me (not in the way Mama Hawke is) but Adela was compassionate and invited me over for holidays at one of their homes in either Jasper, Dallas, Austin, or San Antonio- the Smithsons tended to rotate homes on a fairly regular basis, much to humble Cheyenne's chagrin.

Cheyenne and I were practically sisters. She was a computer science major but she hated it; she loved the arts. Cheyenne was a beautiful girl with fiery red hair and the bluest eyes, and she had pale skin that freckled easily. She was boy crazy and mischievous (she lived to tease and taunt me), soft-spoken at first but a real chatterbox once she got comfortable. But most of all she was someone that I knew I would miss dearly. And I do.

So, when I see my new best friend coming the opposite way from me down the street, I don't think twice before jogging up to her and throwing my arms around her. I breathe in her salty, leathery scent- so different from the girlish, floral, sugary sweet perfume of my past friend- and exhale a shuddery breath against her exposed neck.

A throaty chuckle rumbles from her chest once the initial shock wears off and I feel it reverberate into my own. A steady stream of people parts around us, all headed to Hightown for the morning sermon at the Chantry, but no one gives us a second glance. Agile fingers stroke over my cowl before I finally pull away. The amused look on the pirate's face makes me flush a bit at my childish actions but I can't look unsure of myself around Isabela or she'll pounce at the opportunity to tease me. You know, that's one thing she certainly shares with Cheyenne.

Offering my rogue an impish grin, I shrug and greet, "Hello."

"Feeling clingy today, are we? You're lucky I saw you first or you would have a dagger in your back right about now," Isabela informs.

"It's good to see you, Cap, and thank you for not stabbing me." I grin goofily as I cross my arms.

"Well," her eyes glitter like gold in the morning light, "the feeling is definitely mutual. I heard you were back in town. In fact, I was headed over to see you."

My heart leaps and I force a laugh, "Ah, word travels fast, I see. But there's no reason to go _there_!"

A fine, dark eyebrow arches. "Obviously. Here you are."

"How have you been?" I gloss over my own paranoid antics and pull at my cowl, avoiding her steady gaze.

"Fine. Busy, but fine. The real question, sweet thing, is how have _you_ been?"

A sigh escapes me as I nearly shrivel up under her intense stare. "I've been better, Cap. I... Well, I need to talk to you about the whole ordeal of my journey later. Right now, I apparently have an important meeting with Our Lord of Kirkwall, Garrett Hawke."

"Oh," she practically sings and I'm immediately suspicious, "right. Your _meeting_ with Hawke. I nearly forgot about that."

"You know about it?" I shift my weight to my left leg.

"Everyone does, kitten."

_And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?_

"Okay?" Forcing a chuckle I shake my head in confusion. "Is there something I should be aware of before I walk into the lion's den? Everyone is acting awfully strange about this meeting. I'm beginning to wonder if Hawke is going to burn me to a crisp the second he lays eyes on me. So, tell me, Cap: What's the big deal about this meeting?"

"Nothing," the pirate hums as she begins to walk by me, delicately running her hand over my shoulder as she does so, "other than that Hawke is _infatuated_ with you. You're all he's been going on about for _months_."

Hawke? _Infatuated_ with me? That's doubtful. The mage has made it no great secret to me that he finds my presence annoying and only keeps me in his employ because I'm willing to take a beating for him and the rest of the gang. In fact, he only employed me because Aveline was busy with her guard duties…. But then wouldn't that mean that the second another competent warrior came along (which he found in Fenris) Hawke should've let me go? He should've, but he didn't. I can think of a few reasons as to _why_ he might've kept me on even after gaining Fenris' loyalty but even still, Hawke shouldn't have called on me nearly as often as he did.

_It's a ridiculous thought. Isabela is just screwing with you, like always._

I scoff and pat my inner-self on the back for her flawless logic. "Yes, Hawke is infatuated with me like I'm infatuated with a pebble in my boot. I think you're mistaking frustration for infatuation, Cap. Don't worry, it's a common mistake."

The pirate gives me a bland look. "Well, aren't you cheeky?"

Pouting my lips, I look up at her and bat my lashes. "Come now. Take _us_ , for example. I drive you up the wall with my cat-and-mouse games but you still keep me around. You may think to yourself, 'That damn Mina! I can't get my mind off of her because of her silly antics!' but you can't stop thinking about me because I _frustrate_ you, not because you're _infatuated_ with me... Or _are_ you?"

"Oh, don't be so coy," her smirk betrays her chastising tone. "Although he may not think of you while he's alone in his bed at night, he _has_ been complaining about your lack of communication. He gets more letters from strangers than from his favorite little warrior."

I throw my head back and groan, "What's with everyone and letters? Are we all suddenly in the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants or some crap? I wasn't exactly in a position to write any letters for the past couple of months. And who would deliver them? A bear? A wolf? Do you think they would've let me borrow their quill and ink if I had asked nicely?"

"Brushing aside your weird cult reference and snark, you said that you'll tell me all about your trip later." The rogue gives me a sultry smirk. "So, your place or mine?"

An adorably bratty youngster is currently sulking in my home. An adorably bratty and _very dangerous_ youngster who seems to flip-flop between being a bratty youngster and a detached stranger. Although Mike knows that I'm friends with all of his favorite characters and this particular "character" isn't magical in the slightest, I'd much rather keep the two away from each other for as long as I can manage it. Gnawing on my lip, I look around like I'm going to find the answer to all of my problems in the sallow faces of Kirkwall's poor or in the dusty crevices in the road. Am I overreacting? Am I being too paranoid?

Finally I meet her gaze and press, "Definitely _yours_."

Her full lips pull into a smirk. "Ooh, you sound eager. Are we only going to _talk_ about your adventure?"

"Rats!" I blurt, practically spitting on her as I do so.

She snorts, " _What_?"

Cheeks flush. "Um, while I was away, the place got infested with rats. I wouldn't go there if I were you."

Warm brown eyes squint at me curiously and she says slowly, "I wasn't going to. Did you happen to hit your head while you were cavorting about Ferelden?"

I sigh, "Yes, Cap, I fell off a mountain and landed on my head. It's a miracle that I'm even alive."

"Ah, now I remember why I missed you. I'll see you later, love."

"And I'll see y-"

"Hold it right there."

Isabela and I both turn at the familiar voice, although she turns rather elegantly on the heel of her boot and I trip over my own legs as I stop in the middle of turning and walking away. The ex-captain steadies me with a hand. A stout figure saunters over towards us confidently and my brow crinkles in confusion the moment I recognize the man. Well, I recognized him immediately from his low voice, but I was a bit hesitant on believing it was _him_ since he had hurried off not too long ago with my elven friend in tow. Eyeing Varric as he comes to a halt before me, mischievous grin in place, I wonder what he could possibly want with me _now_. Nothing good, probably.

"Shortcake," I greet him with an amiable albeit bewildered smile, "I could've sworn I saw you earlier. Is there anything you need? Or do you have something important to say? I feel like you might be about to confess your undying love since I've been blessed to see you twice in one day, now."

He chuckles at my lame joke, "Don't tempt me, Lucky."

" _Are_ you going to confess?" Isabela asks with a wicked grin.

"Now, now. No need to get jealous, Rivaini," Varric simpers. "But back to business. Lucky, I need you to give Hawke something when you meet him. I would give it to him myself, but I know you two have things to discuss."

"Yes, _things_ ," I murmur before bouncing on my heels. "Well, what is it? Is it private?" The dwarf produces a small glass jar filled with rich, amber honey. I take it carefully, curiously, weighing it in the palm of my hand. It's oddly warm, even through the leather of my glove, and it's heavier than it looks. To my utmost glee, I see a bit of honeycomb suspended in the sticky, gloriously sweet substance. Back home, I used to kill for the honeycomb! " _Ooh_ ," grinning, I meet the dwarf's gaze, "this is of a higher quality than the one you fed me earlier. Now I know you play favorites."

Dark eyebrows rise suspiciously as the pirate drawls, "You _fed_ her?"

"Not like that, Cap." I wave off the suspicious woman and turn my excited gaze back to the jar before tucking it under my arm. "Do you think Hawke will share? I love honey."

"Oh, he'll want to share." The suave dwarf smiles mysteriously and oddly enough my skin breaks out into goosebumps.

_Damn, that's eerie._

Laughing nervously, I look between the two rogues, "Um? All right, then. I guess my fondness for honey is well-known?"

"Everyone knows you have quite the sweet tooth." Isabela gives me a wolfish grin, causing my eyebrows to pop up.

A sly smirk pulls up the corner of Varric's lips as he calls for my attention again, "One more thing. Give him a message, too."

"Okay," I bob my head, "I can do that."

Warm eyes smolder. "Tell him to use it sparingly."

I don't miss the sudden realization in Isabela's eyes or the way the two troublemakers grin at each other like they're trying their damnedest not to crack up laughing. Am I being set up? Is Hawke allergic to honey or something? Was he in some great Honey War and he suffers from PTSD and jars of honey trigger his episodes? Okay, those are all highly unlikely scenarios, but I'm starting to get really paranoid and I feel like I'm being set up. For a second I almost shove the jar right back into Varric's arms. Just as I'm about to demand answers, Isabela reminds Varric that they have an obviously made up job to do and the two turn tail and take off.

_That wasn't suspicious at all..._

All by myself, I sigh and turn in the direction of The Man. Strangely enough, the jar of honey seems to burn against my side now that it has this odd stigma attached to it. I'm half-tempted to chuck it at the nearest building, but I doubt Varric or the one-eyed cat slinking against the barrels would appreciate that very much. After making kissy noises at the mangy tabby for about two minutes only to have it blink lazily at me with its one, bored yellow eye, I finally make my way down the street. I must admit that it's rather bizarre to be in Kirkwall again. It's disturbing how I missed this place, especially as I look around and take it in, in all of its dilapidated glory. This is home.

I make it to The Hanged Man without much ado (surprising for me, I know). Even in the early morning hours, the place has a few customers who are already thoroughly shitfaced judging by the red hue to their cheeks and the glassy look that their eyes have. Glancing over the handful of patrons, I don't find Hawke. He must be in Varric's private room. Smothering a groan, I move to head toward the back of the dingy establishment. The tavern smells of smoke, booze, and vomit; just like I remembered.

A wave of nostalgia rides along with nausea as I make my way through the maze of tables and chairs, bumping into more than one piece of furniture due to the dim lighting. My clumsiness earns me a stern glare from the bartender. "Well, if you'd invest in better lighting we wouldn't _have_ this problem, now would we?" I ask over my shoulder, earning myself an indignant 'humph.'

Legs move sluggishly, as if I'm trying to wade through mud. It takes but a moment for me to realize what's wrong: I'm nervous. Why am I so damn nervous? Even my palms are sweating in my gloves and my heart is thudding loudly in my chest, so loudly that I at first think one of the customers hears because he suddenly shouts "What's tha' noise?" but it turns out that he was hearing a rat squeaking at his feet. If anything, _that_ gets me moving faster towards Varric's room.

With my breath caught in my chest, I wrench open the door after giving it a quick rap with my knuckles. Inside, it's a bit brighter than the rest of the tavern. A musky scent reaches my nose. It smells like leather, ale, wood varnish, and something spicy- it's Varric's scent. The aroma brings a smile twitching to my lips and it releases a bit of the tension built up in my muscles. My knuckles still smart from when I knocked, but I ignore the sharp pain and close the door behind me quietly.

An elegant, long table stretches out before me with maps and strange books resting on it. One of the many chairs that surrounds the table is occupied. The occupant is hunched over a book, quill darting across the pages as he writes something down hastily. It's not Hawke. A head of blond hair bobs up and down as the man nods to himself, satisfied with his work. "Anders?" I laugh, caught off guard by his presence.

The healer practically snaps his neck as he turns his head to look at me. His brow furrows and he murmurs almost to himself, "Mina?"

"Wow, I thought I was having a meeting with Hawke. Unless you _are_ Hawke." I grin as I walk around the table to plop myself down across from him. "Damn Hawke, you got really attractive since the last time I saw you."

Anders smiles. "I didn't even know you were in Kirkwall. When did you get back?"

"Yesterday, actually. I have a fancy Orlesian ship to thank for that."

His face goes all funny. He leans back in his chair and parrots, "A ship?"

I huff, "What's so funny about that? I did say _ship_ , right, and not the other word that sounds almost exactly the same? I highly doubt fancy Orlesian _shit_ would get me across the sea." I tap my lip and hum, "Well, there's a nice mental image for you."

Anders chuckles, "I'm just trying to imagine _you_ stowed away on some rickety old ship. Last I remembered, Isabela told me something about you having a fear of water."

"Oh! So you _do_ daydream about me?" I smirk, glazing over the fact that my fears are somehow common knowledge. There's a glint of his old self in his eyes, that joking man with a razor wit, but it's gone as quickly as it arrived and I can't help but feel a pang of sadness for its loss. After it's gone, the pretty apostate just stares at me. Immediately I'm gnawing on my lip. This got awkward pretty fast. Truthfully, it's not as though Anders and I left things on the best of terms.

I had threatened to give him stitches for his loose lips when he blabbed about my secret, and then I was so caught up in my whirlwind of emotions that I didn't tell him or Varric goodbye before bolting from camp and getting myself lost in the Deep Roads. And before that, we didn't exactly see eye to eye over Hawke's dealings with apostate blood mages, so our relationship was already rather chilled from _that_. Still, we've always been civil. It's not like he glares at me the way he glares at Fenris.

_Make conversation already! Damn!_

"So," I drum my fingers against the table before nodding at his book, "whatcha workin' on?"

"Oh, this is my manifesto!" Anders looks rather proud as he begins to hand it to me. "The ink is still wet, so be careful."

"I'll be careful," I titter, a smirk pulling up the corner of my mouth, "I'm a _very_ gentle lover."

He smiles faintly. "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

Just as I'm about to grab the tome, the door opens and Anders and I freeze like we were caught in the middle of some criminal activity. In the doorway, illuminated by the warm glow from the tavern, is Hawke. Molten gold eyes survey the scene before him carefully, critically, before the mage steps over the threshold and closes the door behind himself with a soft thud.

My heart is somewhere in my throat as the tall mage makes his way around the table to sit at the head. Dark hair falls across his forehead, sticking to it with sweat from the heat that's sure to be descending on Kirkwall as the early morning clouds dissipate. Anders is the first to speak as he pushes away from the table and sets his manifesto before Hawke. "Here. I've been meaning to get you to read it," a hesitant smile graces his lips. "Give it a glance when you have the time. I'm sure its contents will be quite enlightening for you."

A tired sigh escapes the brunet mage as his brow furrows, "Anders-"

"Just a glance." The blond smiles confidently and he gives myself and his fellow mage a cursory nod before leaving.

When the door shuts firmly, I take a steadying (but very, very quiet) breath and turn my attention onto Hawke. To my amusement, he's busy frowning down at Anders' manifesto like it's a heaping portion of his least favorite meal and he has to eat every last bit of it. Come to think of it, I believe I recall Anders' manifesto. If I remember correctly, it's basically his Big Book of Mage Propaganda. I'm actually almost eager to read it, just to get his perspective sans a long-winded lecture. My jovial mood is shot dead in the face, however, when Hawke's sharp eyes suddenly fly up to land on me, turning my blood to ice.

As a reflex, my lips quickly stretch into an overeager grin. "Good morning, Hawke! Long time no see, eh?" And then I'm internally cringing.

" _Long time no see?" How stupid are you, really?_

"Good morning, Mina." His tone is strangely soft, almost melodious. I must admit that I've missed him, too. Yes, I've missed the annoyingly stoic mage with his heated glances and perpetually frowning face. My lip is sure to be raw by the end of this meeting by the way I've been chewing on it vigorously. The mage watches me from beneath his dusky lashes before leaning back and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. Oh, boy. Why do I get the feeling that I'm about to get grilled like a cheese sandwich? Before Hawke can get his crusade in full swing, I begin to babble about anything and nothing to distract him.

"How have you been? Did you feel that heat outside? Judging by the sweat on your brow, I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and say you _have_. Not that I've been staring at your forehead! It honestly isn't that sweaty so there's no need to wipe at it. Don't be self-conscious around me, I'm honestly sweating like a sinner in church. Er, it's going to be a sweltering week, I'm sure. It really is remarkably hot out, for some reason. I thought it would be cooler, honestly."

A thick black eyebrow lifts slowly. "To answer your first question, I have been well. May I ask how your search went?"

_Damn! Of course he wouldn't bite._

"Well..." I trail off as my cheeks heat up from the way he so boldly stares, "I found my brother. And before you ask, yes, he's in Kirkwall." For a moment, I pause and just sit there. Carefully moving my lips to form the appropriate words, I inform him, "I'm going to be leaving Kirkwall soon, by the way. I think it would be best to get my brother out in the country for some fresh air after all he's been through."

For his part, Hawke is rather calm as he replies, "You're leaving again?"

I'm surprised by how defensive I get when I blurt, "Hawke. My brother and I aren't exactly human anymore. It's honestly better for everyone if we get out of densely populated areas. So, please don't even bother trying to _guilt_ me or convince me that staying in this shithole is a good idea."

There's a strange glint in the man's eye and it shuts me up immediately. I'm left a fidgeting mess under his scrutinizing stare and I go through a laundry list of nervous tics as I wait for him to say something, _anything_ about what I just said. Admittedly, my desire to explain and defend my every action is one borne from having a mother who always undermined every little thing I did. So, I feel foolish for projecting that onto Hawke in his stoic silence. Heart racing, I finally lose what little nerve I have and continue.

"Listen," my voice is surprisingly strong and forceful, "Hawke, there's a lot that I can't tell you- not because I don't _want_ to, but because it's just so hard to explain. My brother would be better served away from civilization for a while. And as his sister, it's my duty to be there at his side." Hawke doesn't even flinch as my voice rings through the room.

Heart wavering, I wait a minute for him to respond. It feels like an eternity. It feels like when I was a kid, just twelve, on stage for the school play and I froze up there with dozens of eyes on me. Under Hawke's gaze, I feel like there's a spotlight on me and I'm the only woman in the world- the only other _person_ in the world. The brunet doesn't say anything and I feel all the more like a fool for having expected otherwise. And the word vomit just continues. Just like with Varric, I feel this compulsive need to explain myself, to make him see that I'm being responsible and that this isn't personal.

Cheeks ablaze, I continue, "It's just-" I'm suddenly finding it hard to speak and I realize with a jolt that it's because I'm about to start crying like a baby. Horrified, I turn my face away and wipe furiously at my cheeks. Eager to end this social nightmare, I stammer, "Son of a- Oh, _dammit_. You know what? Never mind. Forget I started blabbering on about nothing and just remember that I _at least_ informed you of my intentions."

I can't _believe_ I'm getting all emotional in front of Hawke! But the reality of what's happened to my brother makes me feel ill. I still, to this day, haven't dealt with a single one of my emotions over this entire situation. I haven't dealt with the disturbing, self-centered glee that I felt when I first realized that I'd be able to see my brother after all this time. I haven't dealt with my feelings about Kiriyama's participation in blood rituals. I haven't fully processed this Summoned business. I haven't dealt with my feelings over the fact that there's clearly something _very_ wrong with my brother, outside of the obvious "killing magic users" thing. I've been so busy surviving that I haven't bothered  _getting over it_.

Even at this moment, my hands shake so bad that I have to bury them in my lap. It takes all of my self-control to keep from breaking down, so overwhelmed to the point that I feel like I'm drowning. I'm taken back to every time I'd have a hissy fit as a kid and the cold, unwavering stare my grandpa would give me to shut me up and make me realize I was being unreasonable. Imagining that he's here… that gets me to calm down. I'm grateful for at least that. I'm grateful that Hawke lets me have my little moment. He probably learned his lesson from the last time I so unprofessionally blew up on him.

As I stare at my lap, the mage's voice starts softly, "What happened to you and to your brother is no one's fault but the blood mage's. You could not have prevented what was done to your brother. I understand that you _both_ need time to heal. I won't ask any intrusive questions but I will ask you to be safe."

My lip trembles as I laugh and look up, "Dammit, Hawke. Are you _trying_ to make me cry?"

He looks alarmed, which is a strange expression to see on the golem's face. "I didn't-!"

"It's okay! I was joking!" Flapping my hands about, I try to ease his concern. "I'm fine. It just comes in waves, the whole being dead thing and now having my brother in practically the same miserable position as myself." Chuckling humorlessly, I shrug at the mage, "The situation is less than ideal, but at least I have my brother now."

Golden eyes radiate warmth. "You're close to him, I take it? To your brother?"

"Oh, yeah!" I laugh as I ease into the chair, "I mean, my brother isn't the best at talking unless you're me, but he's pretty funny once you get to know him. Mind you, his jokes will always be at someone else's expense. Mike has never really played well with others, I'll admit that much, but he's a good kid."

"Is there a large age difference between you two? I could never really relate to my siblings since we had nearly a ten year age difference between us," he smiles sadly, "I only really ever got along with Bethany and that was because she was always so eager and insistent on me teaching her spells. That and she was always such a sweet girl. And Carver, well, he made it his life's goal to be as disagreeable as possible when he turned nine."

_He looks so sad…_

I can't help but shift uncomfortably. "Ah, well, my brother and I are only six years apart in age. Still, I embarrassed him a lot when he was growing up. Or so he said." I roll my eyes. "You hug your baby brother _one time_ in front of his friends and suddenly you aren't allowed to pick him up from school anymore."

We relax into a comfortable silence. Wow. A _comfortable_ silence? Usually one of us is boring holes into the other. Well, give it time. I'll probably say something wildly unprofessional that will offend Hawke, then he'll call me out on it, and then I'll have a hissy fit and storm off. That's our normal routine, right? You'd swear he was my father with how he's always lecturing me about something and finding things to reprimand me over. I don't like to be lectured. In fact, I think the only person I can tolerate that from is Mama Hawke and that's because she's obviously looking out for my best interests and not just looking for something to bitch about. Speaking of Leandra…

"How has your mother been?"

The mage tilts his head toward me and informs me, "She has been well enough. She asks about you."

"Really?" I wince. "I'm sorry that I made her worry."

"It's quite all right. Mother always worries."

A startlingly cruel chuckle rips through me, "Ah, my mother never really worried much."

"What do you mean?" Garrett sits up a bit in his chair, giving me his full attention.

_Oh, damn. Let's not go down this road again. Pretty please?_

I purse my lips as I contemplate if I'm _really_ going to go through the history of my stunted emotional growth with my former employer. Ah, it's not like I'm going to be seeing much of him in the future, anyway, so what the hell? By this time tomorrow, I won't even be in Kirkwall. With this in mind, I reply at length, "Well, when she pulled her head out of her ass long enough, she was a decent mother to my brother. To me? Not so much. Practically the second she got pregnant with my brother, she sent me off to live with my father's parents."

"And what of your father?"

"He left when I was six," I reply in a tone that's probably a bit too flippant for the subject matter.

Narrowing his eyes, Hawke asks, "He left when his wife was pregnant with his child?"

"Ah... Mike isn't my father's son." I tug at my cowl. "Michael is my _half_ -brother. My father left because he caught my mother with another man."

"I'm sorry for bringing it up." The mage flushes apologetically.

I shrug. "You aren't the one my mother was having an affair with so there's no need to apologize, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same. Besides, it's ancient history. At least I got to grow up with two loving grandparents and an amusing uncle. Mike didn't even have that much."

_And yet you envied him every waking moment up until you went to college._

True. Because in my mind, our mom chose him and not me. She abandoned me. And for what? Why? I asked her when I got older and she told me, with a mouthful of venom, that it was because I was the spitting image of my father- that I acted _just like him_. That's why she didn't want me anymore. That's why she couldn't bear to look at me. That's why her lovely parents always snubbed me at Christmas and refused to acknowledge my existence at Mike's birthday parties. For his part, Mike didn't become aware of the awkwardness at get-togethers until he was a tween. And then he made sure not to have us all under the same roof. Mike can be rather merciful.

"Anyway," I sigh, "how have things been here? From what I gather, everyone is _fine_ and everything is _fine_. But I'd much prefer to have more details."

The mage pushes a few books around on the table distractedly, like he's nervous about how I'm going to react when he says, "Your debt collectors showed up on my doorstep not too long ago."

Blood rushes to my cheeks and I sputter, "I-I'm _so_ sorry, Hawke. Dammit I _knew_ that would happen!" I sigh as I rub furiously at my scar with a knuckle, "Well, did you send them off to Ferelden? Hopefully you did, 'cause then they're probably wolf chow by now. Or dragon chow, you never know how unlucky a person can be."

Hawke won't make eye contact. "No, actually. I paid off the debt in full. You won't have anymore unwelcome visitors hounding you for money."

My heart stops. "You _what_? Hawke I never asked you to do that! That was totally unnecessary!" I fume, "I could've taken care of it myself!"

_Now I'm in_ his _debt!_

"I know you didn't ask," he frowns at my explosive reaction, "I did it because I had the coin and because I wanted to. If it makes you feel less uneasy, just consider it your share from the Deep Roads expedition that paid off the debt. You are not in my debt in any way, shape, or form, if that is what concerns you."

_Wow... Hawke: 1, Mina: 0. He really turned that around on you, huh?_

"I... Uh, thanks."

"Don't thank me. The debt was paid in full with _your_ earnings. In fact," Garrett adjusts himself so he can pull his coin purse from his tunic, "I have the rest for you right here. It is quite a sum, so don't go spending it all on teas and poisons."

I scoff, "Who said I'd spend it on that?"

"Isabela. She said you have a certain fondness for poisons even though you rarely use them and that you always keep your home stocked with tea if nothing else. She told me about the time that you nearly killed your friend, Steven, when he came back from a trip and you tried to serve him tea but accidentally gave him a helping of poison." I don't miss the amused- almost spitefully so- glimmer in the mage's golden brown eyes.

"Ah, yeah," a nervous laugh bubbles from me as I rub the back of my neck at the foolish memory. "It was a good thing that Isabela recognized the scent. Needless to say, I'm _very_ careful in keeping the two items separate nowadays."

I'm given a bemused smile, several gold pieces, and a few silvers. Mouth goes dry. Honestly, it's the first time that I've seen so much money at once. Gawking up at Hawke, I try to give him at least _half_ of it back, stuttering and stumbling over my words as I say things like "I wasn't even there for the duration of the whole expedition!" and other things that I think might make him think twice about giving me a small fortune like it's nothing but pocket change.

After we slide the coins back and forth between each other across the table- the sliding getting more and more aggressive on Hawke's end, and more and more desperate on my end- I finally give in and carefully put the coins in my purse like they're made of glass and not metal. "Thank you," I sigh in defeat.

"You earned it."

Awkward silence.

"Oh!" I jump, suddenly remembering something. " _I_ have something for _you_. I nearly forgot." I place the jar of honey on the table and slowly push it towards Hawke as I drawl, "Apparently this is some really good stuff, so you need to use it sparingly. But you'll give me a little extra, right?" I ask sweetly, looking at him from beneath my lashes. I really want some of this stuff. If only to see what all the hubbub is about, at least. Hopefully it isn't some sort of a drug and I don't end up as high as a damn kite. Though, I have my doubts. I can't imagine uppity Hawke doing _drugs_. Well, other than lyrium.

"What-?"

My forehead crinkles at the way the mage's voice cuts off. His golden eyes widen a fraction. Suddenly, the brunet mage's face is aflame with a blush as he looks from me to the honey and back again like I just put something absolutely ridiculous on the table. An uneasy giggle escapes me. Well, I force it out and it sounds more like a deflating balloon than anything else, but I'm too worried by Hawke's expression to be ashamed of the awful noise that just left me. I've never seen so many expressions on the mage's face before in the whole time that we've known each other and now I'm getting them all in one day!

"Are you okay?" My lips twitch into something that I hope is a smile. "I mean, if you don't want to share, that's fine with me. I could pay you for some if it's expensive or something."

"You..." The mage's eyes darken as he stares fixedly at me.

My hands fly up in a placating manner. "Never mind! Besides, I just ate some earlier today."

He blinks, the heated look disappearing in a flash. "You _ate_ honey earlier?"

"Yes. Is that a crime now? Because you're looking at me like I just punted a kitten right before your very eyes."

"No." Hawke shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You want to _eat_ this honey?"

I sigh and slump in my chair, "Okay, what's going on? Is there some other more sinister purpose for honey? Is it a vital component for a poison? Is it used in human sacrifice? Are we going to put it on the bread of our foes and fatten them up with it before offering them up to Darkspawn?"

"Never mind, Mina." Hawke sighs as the blush starts to disappear from his cheeks, "Keep it. I know you love your sweets."

My eyes rove over his face the entire time. Fingers barely brush against the glass jar but I'm too distracted by the indecipherable expression on the mage's face to feel it. At first, when I brought up the honey and set the jar on the table, the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated embarrassment. In fact, he looked positively scandalized that I brought him _a jar of honey_. You'd swear I slammed a box overflowing with dirty magazines and bondage gear on the table and brought a TV with a snuff film playing on it. But the second look on his face, when he realized that there was some disconnect between us, was almost one of disappointment.

The jar connects with my palm and I pull the distraction off of the table and set it on the empty chair next to me. "Thanks, Hawke."

"Thank _Varric_ ," the mage says, almost resentfully.

Looking to change the subject, I pick quite possibly the worst topic, "Um, about Carver," I try not to wince as his stare intensifies, "I'm sorry. I sorta aided in driving him away and making your job as the family's caretaker that much harder."

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" I ask, though I'm not immediately defensive because his tone is tired and surprisingly not chastising.

"Stop trying to take responsibility for things that are completely out of your control. You do it so frequently that I'm surprised you don't have mental breakdowns on a daily basis." I'm about to tell him that that's not _entirely_ true and that he's giving me way too much credit, but he continues, "Carver left because he wanted to. Nobody forced his hand. Despite what you may think, Mina, you have no control over what others decide to do for themselves. So stop apologizing for everything. It's a bad habit to have."

_You may not be able to control what others do, Hawke, but_ I _can._

The thought gives me pause and Hawke misinterprets my hesitance for anger. Pushing away from the table, he stands and begins to pace. Uh-oh. Now I feel like I'm in trouble and I didn't even do anything to earn it this time! All I did was freeze at the bizarre, very un-Mina-like thought... It was a strange thought, really. The tone of it was rather sinister and almost _gloating_. What the hell is going on with me these days? But I can't dwell on it for much longer because I find myself hypnotized by the movement of Hawke's finely made tunic.

It's quite possibly the richest black I've ever seen in a fabric. Usually most black fabrics I come across in the market look rather faded and worn. This is like a black hole with golden threading and intricate needlework at the hem and collar. Damn, Hawke really did make it big. But somehow I doubt he purchased the fancy garb for himself. Mama Hawke probably did the shopping. With the noblewoman on my mind, I ask, "Does your mother know I'm back in Kirkwall?"

Hawke's brow furrows at the sudden change in subject. His pacing stops as he turns to reply, "Yes. We were having supper when Varric came knocking with news of your arrival."

I let out a low whistle. "I'll never doubt his connections again."

"Mina," the severe timbre to Hawke's voice causes me to sit up straight, "I have a serious question for you."

"Okay. Shoot." I smile uneasily at his bizarre behavior.

A grimace of doubt streaks across his face before he turns to look at me directly, still standing. "I know you are leaving, but I must know. Why did you accept all of those jobs that I offered you when you could have easily declined every single one of them?"

_That's a random question. Is he trying to get me to work another job?_

My brow quirks and I grin playfully, cupping my chin. "Why do _you_ think I accepted all those jobs?"

"I thought-" A pained expression crosses his features before the stoic mage snuffs it out and sits heavily back onto his seat. He doesn't even look at me as he says sternly to the table. "I thought, perhaps, that you enjoyed my company."

Enjoyed his company? What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean? Does he mean...? No! _No_! That's just ridiculous! I mean yeah, I've propositioned Hawke as a joke more than once, but... On instinct I'm grinning like a moron even though I'm confused and don't know what emotion I should be displaying on my face. Although I'd much prefer to sit here in silence (actually, if I could really have my way I'd prefer to _disintegrate_ ) I have to say something. "And you-? Why do you-? Why did you think that?" I finally manage to sputter out after what feels like an eternity of floundering for the right words.

His cheeks color a bit but he refuses to look up. Hawke explains, "You go out of your way to play jokes on me, or _try_ to, as it were. You don't do that for anyone else and I know that it isn't because you despise me since none of your jokes are cruel in nature. You swore to protect me with your life once, in the cave on the Wounded Coast. And, well, you tend to flirt with me often, though your style is rather odd." Finally he meets my eyes and he offers me a rare, kind smile... I feel like a total scumbag for what I blurt next.

"I flirt with _everyone_ , Hawke."

The smile vanishes in a heartbeat. "So I've noticed, which is why I wanted you to make your intentions clear."

Silence. Unbearable silence. I feel as though someone is trying to peel my skin from my body, this entire situation is just a total shitfest of painful awkwardness. I've never been too good with confessions. Mind you, _I_ usually did all of the confessing since people rarely confessed to having feelings for Weirdo Mina who was a workaholic and prioritized friends and family and goddamn  _grades_ over a social life.

I've always been looked at as the sister or the overly-flirtatious friend, never the romantic interest since I never exactly lived up to anybody's physical "Ideal" with my unconventional fashion sense and fondness for dying my hair bright colors. And I was perfectly fine with being myself, no matter how painfully undesirable that was to others. So the idea that _Hawke_ is confessing to  _me_ \- to this scarred, burned, temperamental version of me, no less? It feels like a big joke. Like a setup. God _damn_ my nearly nonexistent self-esteem. Do they have self-help seminars in Thedas? Christ, I could sure go for that scam.

Mouth dry, I dare to ask, "Why did you offer me those jobs, Hawke?"

His face is impassive now as he replies with conviction, "Because I enjoy your company."

_This is a joke…_

"You have a funny way of showing it," I laugh a high, nervous laugh.

"I don't understand."

"You're a charming man, Hawke. But you aren't that way with _me_. With me, you're so cold and harsh." I'm leaning forward now, a curious frown on my face. Curiosity overrides embarrassment and for that I'm grateful. "Why is that? How can you say that you love me when you treat me like some common interloper?"

"That's..." The mage trails off with a scowl, "I never said anything about love."

So much for relying on my curiosity to keep me from being crippled by embarrassment! Immediately my face is on fire as I reel back like he just slapped me. I have to look away. He didn't say anything about love, so why the hell did I? I _don't_ love Garrett Hawke, I know that for certain. It's just that he's caught me off guard with all of this "enjoying people's company" nonsense and I-I got confused. That's all. This is all coming completely out of left field…

But it's not as though Hawke- I mean it's not like we- What I mean is that we haven't ever- Ugh! Shit! I'll admit that I'm mostly to blame for this misunderstanding. I've taunted and teased Hawke a lot (almost _incessantly_ on jobs) and I even told him what feels like centuries ago that I was going to flirt with him because I knew it bothered him. I've made my bed, so I might as well sleep in- Okay, not the best idiom to use given the current situation.

"Okay." I sigh once the humiliation has receded some (though I still feel like dying, thanks), "But you still haven't answered my question. How can you say that you _enjoy my company_ when you act like I'm a menace? _How_ , Hawke?"

His face doesn't betray a single emotion as he states firmly, "I try to live without regrets, Mina, but that does not mean that I have none. I am a _mage_. All my life I have been on the run. All my life, the people I have cared for the most have been on the run for _my_ sake and they've suffered for it."

My brow puckers at this dark thought of his and I try to console him, "I don't think they've suff-"

"You've seen the way Carver resents me. You've seen how I let my mother down with Bethany's and now _Carver's_ safety, and I can promise you she won't ever let me live that down until the day she dies." Hawke looks away. "My behavior toward you has been unacceptable, this I know. But I believe that I have been justified in my actions and-" He holds up a hand when I make to interrupt again, "I know that I have a tendency to impose my rules on others even when it is unwanted and unwarranted. I know that, Mina. No one is without flaws and you have always been the first to point out mine. For now, please just listen."

Hands clench in my lap. "Okay. Fine," I concede slowly like he's pulling my damn teeth.

With a heavy sigh, he continues, "Every harsh word I've uttered in your presence about your combat style, every scornful look, every action of mine that you mistook to be myself undermining you... It has all been for your safety because I've grown to care for you. You may not agree with my methods- in fact you have made that _perfectly_ clear to me- but I have only ever done what I believed to be the best for you. As I said before, I am a mage. I am a mage but I am also a man with hopes and desires, and though I have feelings for you I will not drag you down and make you resent me the way my family does."

"That still doesn't explain-"

"I _want_ you but I _don't_ want you to have to live a life that's beneath you. You have been on the run yourself; I don't want to have you on the run for the rest of your life simply because I was greedy. Especially not now, when you have a family to care for, yourself," he breathes out assuredly, though I can tell he wants me to refute his statement.

I slam my hands on the table just to stun him into silence so I can finally say my piece, "If _this_ is how you feel, then why constantly shove me away? Because you don't want to 'drag me down'? You haven't exactly made me feel welcome in your presence before, Hawke. I get more kind looks from the mean old tomcat that chases rats outside my house."

"I haven't tried to be cruel towards you, Mina." Hawke squints at me. "I find it difficult to speak to you. You _make_ it difficult to speak to you. Whenever I make a comment or a suggestion about the situations that you put yourself in and how they're dangerous to your health, you immediately lose your temper."

I admit hastily, feeling very much like quite the asshole in this situation, "Obviously I don't take too well to people telling me what to do. Especially not in the way you do it, with all your condescending and disappointed looks."

"I never meant to be condescending…"

"Well, you were. I'm a grown woman and I know that I don't make the best choices from your point of view, but I have to live my life. I can't have someone else telling me how to live it."

"But the recklessness in which-"

"Ah, ah!" I hold up my hand. "Okay, I get it. I know that I can do some really, _really_ stupid things- like, _blindingly_ stupid. But those stupid choices are mine to make."

A fierce glare burns me. "And if one of those stupid choices gets you killed?"

I scoff, "I'm never _that_ reckless."

Hawke gives me a bitter smile. "You tackled a dragon."

Well. The man has a point and I'm not exactly ready to give it to him. "We're going to be going in circles if we pursue this any further," I sigh in defeat. "So, I'm stubborn and you're preachy. We can agree on that."

"Yes, we can."

"But the fact of the matter is..." I trail off.

The fact of the matter is that I can't have Hawke around Mike for the simple fact that my beloved brother is dangerous. Hell, even to _me_ , he's dangerous. And I've already had Kiriyama tell me that I'm drawn to my mage companions because of their magical "auras"; because I'm basically a moth slamming itself relentlessly against the light-bulb that is their magic, so for Mike I can only imagine how much worse it is. And for me, it's always been family over romantic partners.

But I _do_ like Hawke- and not because he's a mage. In fact, him being a mage is what put me off him in the first place. I actually like hoity-toity Garrett Hawke. It's weird to think about and reflect on. How I'd always catch myself staring like a total freakin' creep, how I was so afraid of disappointing him; fearing for his safety, worrying about his feelings. But I didn't really see it as anything more than "friendship" because... I'm just _me_. Isabela only ever teased and I figured it was because she was being her usual flirty self. Hawke isn't flirty and he isn't kind enough to feign attraction to someone. So, what is this?

"Mina? What is it?"

My stomach drops when I look up and see the thinly veiled hope in Hawke's eyes, only for me to say, "Honestly? I like you, Hawke. You're a wonderful man. However, you seem like you're looking for something permanent and I can't give you that. I'm not the domestic girl or even the faithful one," I lie through my teeth but keep my face devoid of emotion, "so you're barking up the wrong tree. You're my boss and I'm your employee. That's all we'll ever be. It'd be best for both of us if we kept this strictly professional. Besides, things always get nasty when more amorous feelings are thrown into the mix and I'm getting the hell out of this dump anyway."

I regret that boldfaced lie immediately. The hurt that flashes in his eyes makes me feel like I'm going to puke. To his credit, Garrett Hawke puts on a wonderfully cool mask that nearly turns me to stone. But at this point, I deserve to be turned to stone. I deserve that and more. However, I just found my brother and I'll be damned if I do something to jeopardize his safety _and_ Hawke's, for that matter. Just call me Saint Wilhelmina, huh?

Hawke says through a sudden smile, "I understand completely. I apologize for treating you poorly and I apologize for any misunderstandings between us." He stands abruptly. "I shall take my leave of you. I do hope that you have a safe trip to wherever it is that you go."

Heat sears my cheeks as I hasten to call out to him, "Hawke-" And then I'm by myself, mouth still open like a fool. But I did it to myself. Because I clearly know what's best for everyone, right?

Maybe I sit there for an hour, I'm not too sure. But I _do_ know that I sit there by myself for a while, just thinking. My, that was a twist. When I was headed here to The Man to meet Hawke, I had expected that the mage had wanted to see me so that he could smack my hand and tell me that I was bad for not informing everyone of my whereabouts and for being gone for so long. I had expected us to just catch up on current events, make sure everything was fine, and that would be that. We did that, yes. But I hadn't expected _that_. I head back home in a daze, still reeling from how I wounded Hawke The Unfeeling. When did I become so cruel? I could have just said, "I'm not interested."

Noises reach my ears from the other side of the door and I frown. There shouldn't be noises coming from there... Especially not _three_ different voices. Taking a breath, I practically kick the door down. Eyes widen. "What the fu-!"

"Mina!" Isabela waves me over from the table.

Isabela, Varric, and Mike are all sitting around the table playing a game of Wicked Grace. When Mike recovers from the shock of me busting down the door, he stands and quickly comes to my side. We share a heated glare as the rogues continue on like I bust through doors like the Kool-Aid man all the time. After I've mentally beaten Mike into submission for a century with my glare, I turn my attention onto my allies who are both cool as cucumbers, much to my frustration. If only they acted guilty, I could get away with lambasting them.

"We're just getting acquainted with your brother, Lucky." Varric blinks up at me innocently from his cards. "Honestly, I'm a bit hurt that you didn't introduce us sooner."

It's all I can do to keep from having a full-body twitch at his comment. That damn dwarf knew Mike was here all along! How can he sit there smiling at me like he's innocent in all this, like he had _no_ clue that Mike was here and that he's _so_ shocked that I _never_ mentioned my brother? I'm sure he's just doing this for shits and giggles. He probably told Isabela about Mike the second they were out of earshot. They've probably all been here for the duration of my meeting with Haw- Frowning, I glare at the dwarf.

_Gettin' real tired of your shit, Varric._

"Oh, yes," the pirate drawls, "Mina, he's such a treat! I can't believe you didn't tell me he was here earlier. He doesn't talk much, sure, but he says the funniest things." Her eyes glint mischievously. "I never knew you used to live with another woman."

_Glossing over that._

"Excuse me, but what are you two doing here, exactly?" My lips are pulled into a painful smile as I stare the two rogues down with wild eyes. "I don't recall inviting y'all over to my home while I was away."

"That's a creepy expression," Isabela chuckles uncomfortably before nudging Varric. "Varric and I were headed off on our job when we heard noises coming from your home. Thinking your house was being burglarized or the _rats_ were making a mess of the place, we decided to investigate. Turns out this gem had flipped your table over and we found him cleaning up the place."

An eyebrow quirks up in irritation as I attack Mike with my laser vision. "Seriously? You seriously flipped the table? Are you on steroids or something?"

Pink blossoms on his pale cheeks. "I was bored," he defends himself weakly.

"Then read a book!" Stepping forward, I hiss into his ear so the others can't hear, "Why did you let them in?"

He pulls me roughly to the side, away from the table and explains, "They _broke in_ , thank you very much. And I don't know why you're acting like this. I told you I can control it."

"I find that hard to believe! You can't just- Let go of me!" I yank my arm from his grasp. "You can't just control it after only being here for a little while!"

"Jealous that I can master my skills faster than you?" Mike's dark eyes simmer. "And I _have_ got it under control. That's why I didn't kill you in your sleep. You're welcome, by the way."

_What?_

"Uh, excuse me? Is not killing me in my sleep something you're _seriously_ asking me to _thank you_ for? That's common courtesy, Michael! Not killing someone in their sleep is called being a decent, _normal_ person!"

Behind him the two rogues are casually playing cards but I know they're straining their ears to listen. I definitely can't have them hearing me have it out with my brother. I'm not one to air my dirty laundry in front of a crowd and Mike knows that. That's why he's keeping us downstairs instead of stepping out or something for a bit of privacy. He doesn't want me making a scene. With a growl, I drag Mike after me as I ascend the steps to Bartlett's studio. Once I throw the door closed with a bang, I round on Mike.

"Speak."

My brother huffs and crosses his arms. "When you were having that dream- whatever kind of dream it was- magic was emanating from you. It was weird. It was like you were a nightlight, actually, but without the light if that makes any sense. There was a draw that I felt to you, sure, but I didn't act on it. I just watched as you seemed to glow with magic... And then Varric knocked on the door and you woke up."

Tapping my foot, I frown up at my annoyingly tall sibling. "I don't like this, Mike. Not one bit."

"You don't like a lot of things- HotPockets, for example. That doesn't mean they're bad."

"You and your power aren't even remotely comparable to HotPockets, nimrod!" I wipe my mouth as I spit a bit on myself in my anger like I'm some sort of viper.

He smirks. "But they're both things that you don't like."

"Yeah, and I dislike both for very logical reasons. One never heats all the way through and grosses me out, and the other puts the lives of my friends and the life of _my brother_ at risk. Take a guess on which is which. I know it's a bit of a tough one but you're a bright kid, you'll figure it out eventually."

"Stop being an asshole. Billy, I'm fine. You really need to calm the fuck down already, I'm getting really tired of your histrionics."

"Hey!" I point at him. "First off: watch your damn mouth. Second: I'm not overreacting in the slightest."

Mike glowers. "I haven't given you any reason not to trust me to control myself."

Honestly I can't help but guffaw, "Um, I'm _sorry_ , but does the name Matthias ring any bells?"

"That was over a month ago," the teen seethes.

_True…_

I sigh in defeat, already too tired to continue with this constant arguing. "I know I can't keep you cooped up here forever or anywhere else, for that matter. Just... Please, take precautions. Don't hang around mages and don't hang around Templars because those rust-buckets tend to get suspicious. Trust me on that last one."

The frustration fades from his face as Mike's lips thin. "Suspicious how?"

I shrug tiredly. "I'm not too sure about you, but I tend to give off bits of magic which triggers the Templars' little radars."

"Hm. Okay then. I'll be careful if you lay off me a bit." He gives me a steady look, just challenging me to drag this out. "Deal?"

"You'll behave yourself?"

"Behave?" The boy looks insulted. "What am I, five?"

"Well, you've certainly been acting like it, Michael. I couldn't even leave you alone for half a day without you running into trouble." At his irritated expression, I sigh and concede, "Okay, so my friends broke in and that's technically _not_ your fault. But still. No matter where we go- Kirkwall, the middle of the damn wilderness, or a sleepy village- I have to be able to trust you to handle yourself and not put yourself in compromising situations."

He snorts and rolls his eyes, "I can _do_ that."

"You're going to have to do more than just say it. You're going to have to prove it, Mike."

"And how do you expect me to do that?"

Looking around the studio like I'll find an answer in the mess Bartlett left behind, I ponder that question. 'Cause it's a good question. Even if I were to take Mike out in the middle of scenic nowhere, I still recall the flippant, slightly hesitant way that he'd informed me of how he found me and Matthias. He'd tracked us for days, following Matthias' trail of magic like a lethal hunter. Right now, I feel like I've bitten off more than I can chew all for the sake of keeping my brother close.

Where's Kiriyama? Wasn't he supposed to be looking for Mike? Shit, it's been months and... What? Nothing? I honestly don't believe that he's still traipsing about the Frostback Mountains, thinking Mike is still there. As much as I hate to admit it, I need that guy's help. He _knows_ things. And my best chance of running into him without having to go back to Ferelden is to stay where he knows where to find me. Nice that I come to this conclusion _after_  practically waving a giant poster in Hawke's face that I'm totally leaving. Idiot.

When I realize that Mike's been staring intently at me all this time, I clear my throat and confess, "I'm not sure. I'll think of something, though."

Mike sighs and huffs, " _Fine_. Let's go downstairs."

The pirate and the dwarf look up and greet us, still shuffling the cards but obviously not playing anything. Varric offers to deal me in but I decline. I'm garbage at card games. Instead, I simply sit back and watch the three alternate playing against each other. From what I can gather, Mike is losing miserably with Isabela taking the lead. I have no idea what's going on. Brown eyes glance up at me as Varric shuffles the cards. "Did you give Hawke the honey?"

Frowning at Varric, I sigh, "Yeah, I did. Well, I tried to, anyway. He was weird about it and he told me to keep it- _Damn_! I left it in your room."

The dwarf shrugs. "Don't worry about it, I'll drop it off later. Anyway, you say Hawke was behaving weird? Weird how?"

I tilt my head and hum, "He started blushing and he kinda looked angry."

"I don't think that was _anger_ ," Varric sniggers. I almost miss the hint of a smirk on his face and the way he and Isabela exchange mysterious looks.

"Okay, just spare me the suspense and spit it out already," I growl only to have Varric give me a shit eating grin.

"Oh, stop dragging it out and tell her already," Isabela chastises lightly. "Varric had made a comment to Hawke some time ago about your sweet tooth."

My eyebrow pops up and I drawl, "Oh? Were you dragging my good name through the mud, Shortcake?"

"Not at all. The conversation started off innocent enough but it ended up taking an interesting turn after Rivaini pointed out how she caught Hawke staring at your ass in battle."

_He... What?_

My face is on fire and what makes it worse is that I can feel Mike staring at me. " _What_?"

The woman leans forward, elbows on the table, and purrs, "I said that you got such a _firm_ ass from all of the running around and fighting that you do and I mentioned that I've seen you naked a few times to know that-"

"Let's stop that right there!" I shout, leaping from my chair and clasping my hands firmly over Mike's ears.

"Aw, c'mon," Varric laughs. "You already have the boy's ears covered, so we might as well continue."

I look down at Mike and he says rather blandly, "Just keep my ears covered, for the love of God."

"Anyway," Isabela barely fights back her laughter and I want to roll up some paper and smack her head, "Hawke got upset that I was bringing up your naked body in such _vivid_ detail. So, Varric said that if the idea of your _naked body_ was so scandalous, then Hawke should just imagine you covered in something... like _honey_."

"Not clothes? Honey? That was honestly the first thing to come to mind?" I deadpan.

The dwarf shrugs. "We _had_ just finished talking about how you wolf down sweet rolls like a Mabari."

"Which is when I commented about Hawke staring at your ass and how it was a miracle that you have as tight an ass as you do with how you gorge on sweets any chance you get," Isabela supplies.

"And the honey would be mutually beneficial," Varric finishes with a curt nod of his head.

I can't even find it in myself to be mad anymore as I groan, "I can't believe you set me up like that, Shortcake. I thought we had something special."

Releasing my innocent brother's head, I sit back in my chair with a heavy sigh. As if I needed a reminder about Hawke? Both rogues are staring at me, I can feel it. From my side, Mike coughs uncomfortably before standing up and announcing that he's hungry. Looking between us, Isabela offers to take Mike to the market (with my permission) and bring back food. Mike is positively giddy at the thought of seeing the marketplace, although in actuality he probably looks rather apathetic to my rogue allies.

When the two leave, Varric finally speaks, "Did something happen?"

"Hm? What do you mean?" I ask distractedly.

The dapper dwarf frowns. "Lucky, you're one of the most talkative people I know and right now you're as broody as, well, Broody."

Kicking my legs back and forth, I pout out my bottom lip and look at the dwarf. "You knew why Hawke wanted to talk to me one-on-one."

He shrugs. "Guilty as charged. I thought _someone_ needed you two to stop playing coy. But I'm going to take a wild guess and say things went rather awry?"

I wince. "Yeah, you could say that. I think I just hurt Hawke's feelings, as ridiculous as that sounds."

"Hm." Brown eyes appraise me. "Well, I think I have an opportunity for you to redeem yourself."

"I don't need to _redeem_ myself," I snap, way too defensive to the point that I give away my guilt.

"Easy, killer." The dwarf fixes me with a stern look. "Hawke's been asked to perform a job for an old acquaintance and it requires him to enter the Fade. He's been putting it off for as long as he can since Aveline and Broody are loathe to wander to places unknown. Thing is, the situation is dire and Hawke can't put it off for much longer. He doesn't want to go anywhere without a warrior to back him, and I have to agree with his sentiments. You people are remarkably sturdy and we don't know what we're getting ourselves into."

Well, I _am_ always down to help Hawke and now I've pretty much talked my impulsive ass into staying here 'cause I'm in over my damn head with the Mike "Alter" situation... Money isn't a problem; Hawke was the one to basically drop a small fortune in my lap. So, if I _were_ to hypothetically show up to this job, Hawke would be suspicious. I won't have any viable excuse to be there. For crying out loud, I told Hawke I was leaving Kirkwall so many damn times that there's no chance he won't remember! But the chance to smooth things over is tempting… And maybe I can trust Mike to behave for as long as I'm out on that job. Maybe that can be his chance to prove himself to me.

I frown and ask, "So, you want me to just _invite myself_ on one of Hawke's jobs like I didn't just spit in his face? Not literally. My gosh I don't think I'd even be _alive_ if I had actually spat in his face."

"It's your choice, Lucky."

_Right. My choice._


	35. A Charming Daughter

**26\. A Charming Daughter**

"We'll be in the Alienage during the afternoon if you change your mind."

The dwarf's words echo in my head, unbidden and taunting as I scowl at the cured meat Mike had set before me after Varric had left. Having been there to hear Varric, Mike had immediately asked me what was going down in the Alienage. I was hesitant to mention the job because Mike was sure to pick up on my unease. And he did. Telling your baby brother that someone confessed to having feelings for you and that you subsequently shot them down and are now deeply regretting it is a surreal experience. Mike had shrugged and said I was making a big deal out of nothing.

"Mike, it's a big deal," I'd argued. "Romantic confessions are a _huge_ deal. Especially when they come from your boss!"

"Why are you so torn up over it?" Mike had scoffed and from his tone I immediately knew he was going to needle me about the subject even well after we finished our conversation. "He likes you and you like him. Just go tell him you misspoke. I highly doubt he'll have changed his mind in a few hours. And if he did, well, fuck 'im. You can do better."

And I totally felt the need to reemphasize, "He's _my boss_."

"People screw their bosses all the time, Bill. Stop being naïve about it." He rolled his eyes. Suddenly, his carnelian eyes glinted evilly and he simpered, "What? Does it bother you that he's a mage?" Mike has always known how to get under my skin, but preying on the sore spot of my mage phobia (and how I'm ashamed of that phobia) was a low blow. And my dumbass took the bait like a gluttonous fish.

An indignant blush heated my cheeks. I immediately responded, "Of course not."

"Because if that's the problem, then you're _prejudiced_." He put on a scandalized expression and scolded, "Wow. I thought you were more open-minded than that. Hawke's money is good enough for you but not his d-"

"If you say what I think you're going to say, you're grounded."

That empty threat got him to ease up with the teasing. At least, I thought it did until he dared me, "If you aren't prejudiced, then prove it. Go on that job and whisk the mage off of his feet."

And that's how I got bullied by my younger brother into taking the job Varric had mentioned. Why did Hawke have to go and screw everything up with _romantic_ feelings? I was perfectly content with our rather icy employer-employee relationship. I would've been fine if it stayed that way: him being my frigid boss and occasional eye-candy when I was particularly bored on a job and he happened to be walking ahead of me so it was easy to stare without getting caught... Okay, I'm not a _total_ creep. Everyone does stuff like that! Just... What in the _hell_ possessed him to confess to me? Hawke hates me!

_Nope._

Well, okay... Maybe not. And if it's not true and he _does_ like me, does it actually bother me that Hawke has feelings for me? It's flattering, sure, but completely out of left field. I mean, I thought he was trying to prank me, for crying out loud! And is my self-esteem really so low that I would assume that a confession from a hot-blooded man would be a cruel joke? Instinctively, my hand comes up to my scar and I wince. Yes, yes my self-esteem _is_ really that low. I may play the part of the flirtatious little troll but that's all it is: a _part_ , an _act_.

And by spluttering and floundering the way I did when Hawke confessed, the mage probably knows my little secret now, too. Because of my flirtatious manner and the frequency with which I visit The Rose with Isabela, I've developed a bit of a reputation for being a loose woman. And nobody but Izzy knows that that isn't totally the case. To the rest of the world I'm Free Love Mina. But now I think I have to add Hawke to the list of people who know the real Mina; the Mina who gets all panicky when real emotions are involved, the Mina who shies away from affection and cringes at the thought of any close, physical contact.

_You're getting off track…_

Irritated, I get up and throw myself on my bed. I need to stop. I'm going on this stupid job anyway or else I'll never hear the end of it from Mike. Secretly, I think he's tickled to death over the fact that my boss and his favorite _video game character_ wants to date me. I'm sure I'll suffer endless teasing whether I go on this job or not. But Hawke thinks I'm leaving today... How can I slyly just show up, uninvited, on a job without looking desperate or like an asshole?

"Bill, is it really true that you killed a High Dragon?"

Furrowing my brow, I turn to where Isabela and Mike sit at the table. For the past hour and a half since Varric left and the two came back, Isabela has been regaling my baby brother with tales of her exploits. It never occurred to me that I might end up in a few of those little stories and judging by Isabela's sly smirk, she decided to pull Varric's overstuffed story out of her bag. _Is_ wasn't there when Merrill and I stumbled across the overgrown bastard of a reptile, and although Varric was the only person I told the tale to, I'm fairly certain Isabela heard another story from Merrill. Obviously she decided to go with Varric's more riveting tale.

With a roll of my eyes I laugh, "Oh, but of course! I sliced its head clean off with my Lord!"

"Liar," is Mike's immediate answer and Isabela practically chokes on whatever is in her cup, "it was probably just a regular adult. I can't imagine you, of all people, being able to take down a High Dragon."

Cheeks flush with heat but I let his snarky comment roll right off of my back. "Whatever you say, baby brother. But I swear it had a blunt in its mouth..."

"You're too short," he continues, glossing over my admittedly lame joke, "so it would be difficult for you to even mount a dragon and reach its head." He ignores Isabela's snort at the word "mount" and frowns at me. "Did you even fight a dragon at all?"

Pushing myself off of my bed, I begin to unlace my top. Eyes trained only on what's in front of me, I do my best to ignore my brother when he complains about my sudden lack of decency. As his bickering bounces off of the walls, I carefully tug off my chainmail and try not to hiss when I strain my back too much with the motions. Honestly, I take my shirt off in front of the kid just to get him to sputter into silence, his previous accusations long forgotten. My only regret in doing this is that he starts to ask about _all_ of my scars. I can hear the wince in his voice as I practically rip my blouse in an attempt to cover myself back up. But at least one person enjoyed the show.

"That was thrilling!" My pirate friend grins, missing the dirty look my brother throws at her.

"A once in a lifetime opportunity, my friend."

She chuckles before cutting her eyes to Mike, "If you don't mind, Mina, I'd like to show your brother around Kirkwall."

I blink, hands falling to my sides. "Beg pardon?"

I know she's giving me an out. She knows that my scars aren't exactly my _favorite_ topic and she's gleaned enough from our conversation to realize that Mike isn't the type to let sleeping dogs lie. I love Isabela to death but... this whole situation with Mike is still too tenuous. Although I adore Isabela, I can't and I _won't_ allow her to put Michael in a bad situation- or herself, for that matter. "I'm simply going to show him the sights and sounds of Kirkwall. Don't worry, kitten, it'll be the child-friendly tour." Warm eyes glint. "Besides, I'm sure he's feeling every bit the caged animal, cooped up in this dark place."

"I..." Stealing a glance at Mike, I see he's covering his excitement with an impassive façade. God, this is gonna be a bad decision, isn't it? "Okay. Fine," I say, totally ignoring my gut instinct in favor of indulging my brother. Then I fix Michael with a stern look. "Just keep your promise."

_No mages._

He nods grimly. "I will."

When he doesn't make to leave immediately, I quirk a brow. "What's the hold up? I thought you were _dying_ to put some distance between us since we got here?"

My kid brother shoots Isabela an impatient look and her eyebrows pop up. "I'll be waiting outside." The gorgeous rogue swoops down to kiss me in a flurry of leather musk and she winks. "I'll have him home before nightfall, mother dear."

Mike's eyes widen as he stands abruptly, but Isabela is out the door before he can even begin his verbal assault. "That..." He glowers and gnaws his lip. "Is that normal between you two? I thought you were into Hawke."

I touch my burning lips. "No. She was just looking for a reaction."

"I..." Michael looks away, a faint blush spreading across his pale cheeks. "Sorry about before."

I frown. "What about before?"

"Before, when I attacked you about being a smuggler. I'm sorry," he sighs, obviously ashamed. "I said that I understood why you made the choices that you made- why you went into a line of work where you're expected to kill people without batting an eye- and I meant that. I'm sorry about throwing it all back in your face after."

A large grin spreads across my face as I laugh, "Aw, you're so cute, Mikey!"

He makes for the door and teases right back, "Have fun _romancing_ the mage. If I get back before you I'll make dinner since you'll probably be tired." My brother purses his lips, a bit of a grimace on his face, and adds as an afterthought, "Be safe. Although Thedas is an alternate universe I'm pretty sure condoms _aren't_ a thing here."

Before I can sputter out anything, the door closes. I throw myself onto my bed once more and sigh angrily. My mind is a swirling vortex of entropy; thoughts plagued with images of Michael killing Matthias, the gray mountains with the bleeding door, and Hawke's pained face. No. I can't be by myself right now. I can't be allowed to doubt or contemplate or mourn. With a fire burning in me, I get myself geared up and ready to go. Ready to go where? I have a place in mind and the thought alone makes me groan. I heft my Lord onto my back.

* * *

_The Fade._

I've heard about the Fade, the Veil, and demons all in passing before. But little blurbs of information from handsy apostates on smuggling jobs is hardly sufficient for my needs. Generally, I prefer to have a bit of background information on jobs before I undertake them. Who's hiring? Who all is going? What's the pay? What does the job entail? Right now, I have the bare bones to go off of and I hate it. What I hate even more, however, is the first thought that comes to my mind on how to remedy the situation.

The door shuts behind me with an odd finality that I try not to dwell on. Glancing around, I sneak into the nearest deserted alley and take a breath. I really, _really_ don't want to do this but I don't want to be caught off guard, either. Plus... Well, there are _a lot_ of pluses if this miraculously goes my way. For starters, I now have the luxury of "time" on my hands where I didn't when Carrow first showed his face to me after a year of absence.

Back in the Deep Roads and then in the Frostback Mountains, I had a bit more on my mind. I had a baby brother to rescue. Now that that's _accomplished_ , in a very flimsy sense (since Mike acts very bizarrely and I'm not sure what to do with him), I have the time for what I hope to be a fruitful Q&A. But considering how Kiriyama had stonewalled me to hell and back and how, in my dreams, Carrow had actually vocalized his _agreement_ with Kiri's tight lips, I'm not holding my breath. Still, it doesn't hurt to try... Right?

Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I sigh. I'm not exactly sure how this works, considering the last time Carrow "visited" me it was on his own terms. Sucking up my pride and ignoring the way my palms sweat in my gloves, I lean against the cracked wall of a building, trying to look as casual as ever, and call for help, "Carrow?"

Nothing.

Heat rushing to my cheeks at the foolishness of talking to no one like a nut, I glower and snap, "Hey, _Dermot_! I know you're always around in some shape or form! I have a question for you!" I try not to wince when my own clamoring voice reverberates off of the dirty walls of the alley, scaring off a skeletal cat.

"Such impertinence. Is this how I must expect to receive a greeting from you from now on? ' _Hey_?' Honestly, dear, I thought I raised you better than that," a prim voice tuts from my left.

"You didn't raise me at all," I cover my shocked screech with a hacking scoff as I turn to look at the mage who isn't truly standing next to me.

Icy eyes that match his tone stare at me unwaveringly. "True. Now, you say that you have a question?"

Actually, I have several questions but I'm a bit put off at the sight of the mage. I drink in his milky skin with its myriad of blue and green veins pulsing just beneath the surface. My heart stutters in my chest when I realize that it isn't his blood that I'm sensing, but it's _magic_ that I can feel coursing through his veins. A strange sensation overcomes me, like my head has been stuffed with cotton and my lungs are filled with molasses. Blinking rapidly, I look away. I try to regain my senses, try to get my alarmingly slow breathing back to normal.

As the feeling dissipates as quickly as it came, I look back to Carrow and find him giving me a knowing look that makes my hair stand on end. "I have a few questions," I respond thickly.

A serene smile spreads across his thin lips. "Yes, my dear?"

It almost hurts to ask, "Is Kiriyama with you?"

A beat of silence passes.

"Yes."

_Well, at least he didn't freeze to death searching for Mike._

Biting my lip, I nod. "Okay. We'll put a pin in that one for now. Just be on alert for my call, 'cause I have a few questions for the guy since I highly doubt you'd stoop to entertaining me." I breathe out slowly, calmly. "I'm going into the Fade soon. Is there anything that you can tell me about it?"

"You speak as if you have never been there, Mina." His blue eyes glitter ominously. "The Fade is where we have spent many a night together."

_Ew. Did he have to phrase it that way?_

I purse my lips. "So that weird, kinda blurry place is really the Fade? Well, what should I expect to come across when I go there? Surely, I won't be seeing you?"

"Indeed, you will not see me during your travels in that realm. No, you shall encounter demons, I am certain. _True_ demons, not creatures such as yourself," he adds bitterly, obviously still a bit peeved that Kiriyama and I had tried to pull one over on him.

Glossing over his cutting tone, I attempt to get down to business. "Right. Regular demons? Like the one that you summoned to rip my face off?"

"Ah, my dearest, I never ordered the Shade to do such a thing. If I recall correctly, you provoked the beast, and I can assure you that its intention was to do far more than harm your delicate visage."

An eyebrow twitches when he reaches out to stroke my cheek a little too fondly. I lean back out of his immaterial grasp. "Uh- _huh_. Sure. So, Shades? I'll be facing Shades?"

He withdraws his cold hand. "For a certainty. Although I believe that you may come across a more wily sort of demon. It would behoove you to err on the side of caution. You are a treasure, my dear one, and I am afraid that you will garner much attention with your desirable vessel." The mage tilts his head to the side, eyes trained on mine. "Of course, I know that you will not simply forget this fool's errand. That mage fellow's duties are not your own, yet you will pursue his quest regardless. All that I ask, as your most trusted friend, is that you exercise your logic and do not allow yourself to be beguiled by some beast."

"Oh," I deadpan. "Simple enough, I guess? It's not like you just spelled my doom or anything."

A bony finger taps at Carrow's temple. "I am always with you, dearest."

And then I'm staring at a pile of garbage with a giant rat rooting through it for something edible. The mangy thing looks up at me, nose twitching. Immediately I stumble back and out of the alley with a barely contained yelp. Aggravated, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. I probably put too much stock in the fact that Carrow didn't shoot me down when I said I'd be calling on him again for Kiri. But it's also more than a bit disturbing that Carrow knows of my interactions with my comrades- that he knew I was asking about the Fade because of a job with Hawke.

That gives me a squirmy feeling, that he basically has a security camera on me 24/7. Can he see everything that I do? Can he hear all of my thoughts? Can he do these things all the time or only occasionally? Because honestly, if he's _always_ looking and listening, I think that that sucker might need to meet his Maker pretty soon even though I _am_ no match for him.

_Enough of that. You got your answers for now. It's time for business._

Loping down the staircase, I come to a halt in the Alienage. My lungs are tight from the short burst of energy that I used to sprint to Kirkwall's charming ghetto from my little alley. Cheeks heat up when an elven couple throws me a bewildered look as I lean against a wall to catch my breath. A stitch sends searing pain up my side and I wince, stifling a groan. When did I get so out of shape? Oh, right. I spent a while on a ship and didn't do much fighting for months on end. Damn. I knew I should've done _something_ when I was staring at Zevran doing his fancy footwork to stay nice and nimble on the ship.

"Mina!"

I nearly jump out of my skin just as I walk into the Alienage. I was so fixated on the massive tree in the center of the courtyard that I didn't notice Merrill, Varric, and Hawke standing with a worried looking woman. Judging by the intricate tattoos on her face, the woman is Dalish like Merrill. Her hair is a pretty auburn color and her clear green eyes are filled with sorrow. I don't even have the chance to crack wise when Merrill prances up to me and pulls me over towards the group. Although she seems to be in good spirits, there's something off about her. Just as I'm about to question her, I see the source of her despair walking down the steps I just came from.

_Keeper Marethari, was it?_

Maybe luck is on my side today, because Hawke is focused on the Keeper and doesn't give me so much as a glance. Merrill, on the other hand, seems dead set on making me the center of her universe as she uses me to block her from sight of the Keeper (which doesn't work) and begins chatting me up like we didn't see each other just this morning. Of course I humor her. For some reason I've always found it rather painful to see Merrill feeling put out or uncomfortable.

"I believe the Keeper only needs to speak to Hawke." Emerald eyes actively avoid the lithe old woman as she approaches. "I... You seem different, Mina."

I know she's trying to avoid the leader of her clan, so I gently lead my Dalish friend away from the group and tut, "Different? A good different, I hope."

"No," is her blunt answer, worried eyes looking me up and down.

I force a chuckle, "Yikes. Thanks for sparing my feelings, darling." Offering her a smirk, the expression falters on my face when I realize that she's dead serious. My heart stirs. A certain severity is in her eyes as she watches me. She doesn't shoot nervous glances at the Keeper like I thought she would and I find this somewhat disturbing. Where did my squirrely friend go just now? Where's this all coming from? As far as I know, I haven't changed a bit since I left. Maybe I look stressed? Heaven knows I have a lot on my plate at the moment. But I get the strangest feeling that my Dalish comrade isn't talking about my appearance or anything so trivial.

Tilting my head to the side, I prompt the young elf to explain herself. "Different how, Merrill?"

Her eyes are downcast as she says, "You seem troubled, lethallan. Before you left, there was always a smile on your face and you- well, you were always full of laughter." Thin fingers tug at the hem of her green garb nervously. "I don't mean to offend you, but you seem so cold now. Even when you smile, you seem so far away." Her face darkens and my blood chills. "And the look in your eyes-"

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Varric's smooth voice cuts through a tension that I hadn't even noticed was there.

The serious look on Merrill's face vanishes as she replies brightly, "Not at all."

_Well, that wasn't weird at all._

Trying not to dwell on her words, I turn to Varric. "Guess who?"

A smirk spreads across his face. "I knew you'd show up, Lucky."

"You knew?" I scoff, "Well, was there any doubt? When there's coin involved, I'm sure to be around."

"Coin and a certain mage," the dwarf corrects before turning toward Merrill. "Ready, Daisy?"

My two companions make idle chitchat and I tune out. It would be a lie to say that my heart didn't jump when Varric made his little quip. Clearing my throat, I look around the Alienage uncomfortably. For the most part, the elves seem to keep to themselves and I can't really say that I blame them. This is probably my fourth or fifth time being in this part of Kirkwall in all the time that I've been living in this city. It's not that I don't like elves, but this place just seems off-limits like a historical district in a major city.

Plus, the elves kinda get a bit skittish and wary when humans come around here. Which, well, I can't fault them for _that_ since most people in Kirkwall are real scumbags and the only humans that come around here are either looking for trouble or they're Hawke. If any humans come here, an elf tends to end up blamed for a crime they didn't commit. Such is the way of Kirkwall.

A warm scent of spicy musk and lyrium hits me just as I hear a deep voice sigh, "All right, we're all set. I hope you have adequately prepared yourself, Mina, seeing as how you were not officially invited onto this job."

Teeth clamp down onto my bottom lip as I turn and offer the brunet mage a huge, fake smile. "Oh, I'm prepared. You needn't worry your pretty little head over me."

Keeper Marethari approaches us slowly and looks to Hawke. "Have you chosen who will accompany you, Hawke? Remember to choose carefully, for all will face temptation in the Fade."

Golden eyes flash and I barely keep from cringing as Hawke addresses the others, "Ready?"

"Of course. This is going to be interesting," Varric pipes up from beside me, nudging me with his elbow.

_Yup._ Real _interesting._

* * *

Carrow was so full of it. This place is _nothing_ like my dreams. Yeah, it has that same fuzzy, kinda grainy indie-film quality to it that makes it very obvious that we're not in Kansas anymore, but this place is eerie. My dreams have always been pleasant with the occasional melancholy brought about by nostalgia, but they've never been creepy. Aside from that one door dream, of course. But this place? It looks like we're in the Gallows, of all places. Never in my life have I wanted to be _here_. A shiver runs down my spine as a phantom tome darts by me. This place makes no sense and I feel as though a thousand eyes are looking at me. I don't like it one bit.

"What did you say we're doing here again?" I ask nervously.

My question isn't directed at anyone in particular, but Hawke takes it upon himself to reply shortly, "We're here to keep demons from taking control over an apostate named Feynriel."

I nod absently, hand itching to grab my Lord. "Ah. Very nice. I can add that to my résumé: _Demon killer_."

Beside me, Merrill gives me a strained smile that I think is supposed to be comforting and our merry band of misfits trudges along through the Fade. I'm eager to get away from the floating book and I must admit that I feel a bit foolish for getting spooked by a _flying book_ , of all things, but I'm relieved when we finally start to move forward. However, my relief doesn't last for too long before we're confronted by a demon, because _of course_. My face throbs at the sight of the beast, its inky form very similar to the Shade that tried to claw my eyes out.

A grimace tugs at the corner of my lips as I heft my Lord off of my back. "Careful," I murmur to Hawke, though he probably doesn't need my warning. Golden eyes dart to me and the mage gives me a dry look. Not so easily put off, I throw him a smirk and purr, "Don't worry, Hawke. I can handle this one." I _so_ want to redeem myself by looking all cool- like a badass action hero. Sweep him off his feet, Mike said. And sweep I shall. I put myself in front of Hawke and ready myself into a battle stance.

The demon's one large eye glows an ethereal purple as it approaches, saying something about lost magic or... something. Its deep voice is oddly melodious and soothing and I become aware of just how heavy Slicer is in my hands. Why do I carry around such a heavy sword? Ugh, swords are so _cumbersome_. Hm... Why don't I just keep daggers or, hell, even a blow-dart? That would be less... What's the word? Blinking slowly, I rest the tip of my Lord on the ground and lean against him as I ponder this little conundrum. Suddenly, I find myself being jerked to the side and I stumble into Merrill who has just shaken me. I glower and she fixes me with a stern but frantic look.

"It's a sloth demon," she says, breathless, "don't relax around it, Mina. Think about... running or... skipping. Active thoughts!"

I laugh and it feels like a veil is lifted from my face, " _Active_ thoughts? Is that really necessary after you almost made me lop off my own leg with my damn sword?"

The tiny elf glances to her right and frowns. "I'm sorry, but you were making yourself vulnerable to its influence." In one elegant movement, she has her gnarled staff drawn. "Besides, while you were... _away_... it tried to tempt Hawke. He declined the demon's offer, of course, and now we must fight."

"The- _Tempt_?"

Feeling completely lost, I barely have time to shift back into a battle stance when the fight is over. Hawke doesn't give me a passing glance as he marches up a flight of stairs and I want to slam my head into a wall. I _knew_ this was a bad idea! From Anders talking smack about me being easily influenced by magic and Carrow's warning about "wily beasts," I should've known I'd look like a total asshat here. This isn't my element. The Fade? Shit, man, I should've just stayed away and sent apology flowers to Hawke's place. At least then I could still look cool.

I hadn't thought much about the Keeper's words back in, er, _real life_. When she had mentioned temptation, I didn't really think it was a big deal. I had heard about people making bargains with demons before, but usually those stories were presented to me in a way that implied the bargain was completely consensual- I was never led to think otherwise. But now? Obviously the demons turn up the "charm" to get their way. That purple bastard nearly had me sleeping on my feet and I don't even think his attention was even directed toward me in particular.

_Son of a bitch. Try to keep up, Mina!_

"All right there, Lucky?" The dwarf's smooth voice pulls me from my brooding. "You took a bit of a holiday, huh?"

"Hush, Shortcake," I hiss, ashamed by that heaping helping of humble pie that just got shoved down my throat by a demon. "Now that I know how these things play, I'm better prepared."

"Well," he hums and begins to ascend the steps with me on his tail, "not all demons use the same tactics. At least, not from what I've heard. I don't exactly have intimate knowledge on demons."

I snort, "Yeah? How-"

"Quiet."

I frown at being interrupted by Hawke but an eerie sensation in my blood keeps me from mouthing off. Our noble leader stands stock-still in front of a seemingly inconspicuous door, his gloved hand hovering by his side as if it's being held there. Something in the pit of my stomach tells me that nothing good awaits us on the other side of that door and I have to refrain from throwing myself at Hawke when he reaches out a hand and wrenches the door open.

See? Hawke is the type of person who would be brutally murdered in a horror film within the first ten minutes because he doesn't know how to mind his own damn business. And I... would probably be the moron who dies because they tripped over their own feet or some really obvious obstacle that could have easily been avoided. Or the one who calls out, "Hello?" like the monster will respond.

Beyond the door is what appears to be a translucent curtain. I hear a cacophony of hushed voices all clamoring for attention and my brain feels like it's being squeezed by a python. Shame floods me when I realize that I, the group's self-proclaimed muscle, am no match for this place when a sloth demon can so easily catch me off guard and the mere opening of a door has me reeling. But I won't be felled so easily. Oh, _hell_ no. Not in front of my friends. Not in front of _Hawke_ , of all people! I have to prove my worth to them. I _can_ protect them. This _place_ is no match for _me_. Steeling myself, I follow on Hawke's heels as he enters the room and I try not to sway when my eyes land on the Keeper standing in the middle of a tidy courtyard.

_That's not the Keeper…_

It looks like we crashed some coronation party with some pretty blond boy as the honoree and this Keeper imposter lavishing the boy with praise for being some skilled mage or some such. After a second, it clicks in my mind that the pretty blond is this Feynriel person and that this _Keeper_ must be a demon. When our group is all situated in the room, Feynriel is quick to notice our presence, looking somewhat baffled.

The Demon-Keeper, however, has the oddest glint in her eyes. A shiver runs up my spine. I realize that it's raw fury that I see in her normally kind, clear eyes. I've only ever seen that look once in my entire life and it was when I had a certain blond mage hovering over me before he plunged his hand into the gaping wound in my chest. Hopefully that's not on the fake Keeper's agenda. 'Cause I'll have to fill out an opt-out card for that activity. 

"Sorry for crashing the party, Feynriel, but we've come to steal you away." I grin in an effort to suppress the grisly memory, prompting the Demon-Keeper to cut her eyes to me. In their depths, I see a glimmer of hunger and I internally cringe. Y'know, for someone who _just_ fell so easily for a sloth demon, one would think that I wouldn't try and draw any unnecessary attention to myself. But there I go anyway. I think I need a shock-collar to keep me from talking.

Confused brown eyes squint at me. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Hawke throws me a dirty look as if to say that I just ruined whatever grand plan he had cooked up to separate Feynriel from the demon. All it takes is that look for me to graciously (more like ashamedly) bow out and let the mage take the wheel. Hawke is quick to try to set things straight with the blond boy and, to my surprise, Hawke is reassuring and firm with the boy; he's obviously trying not to frighten the skittish thing even when Feynriel is particularly obstinate to the point that I'm tempted to stalk up to the kid and backhand him for not taking Hawke's word that this is just a dream and he's getting cozy _with a demon_. Hawke persists.

I _almost_ wish I had pictures of abominations to show this kid with a warning of "And you, too, could look like this if you keep on with your bullshit." Like how they do for PSAs about drunk driving or the effects of hard drugs. But I've no such convenient and traumatizing paraphernalia at my disposal. Just when I think Hawke has convinced Feynriel that he's in the Fade, a ripple seems to course through the Keeper's slight form and suddenly a massive monster with too many eyes and too many _spikes_ is standing in her place. Boy, I'm 9000% done with this shit. Feynriel has the right idea when he screams and bolts from the scene, leaving us poor saps with a very angry beast to deal with. Shame I can't do the same.

I put on a brave face and ready Slicer, actually a little happy to be done with the chatter and to have something to do. I crane my neck to take in the full magnitude of the demon. "Wow," I grin weakly at Merrill who wears an alarmingly stony expression, "this guy must have his own gravitational pull."

Big green eyes blink and look at me curiously. "I don't get it."

"It's..." I falter, "never mind. I told the joke wrong. How about this one: I think he's feeling pretty _horny,_ eh?"

Beside me, Varric laughs, "Good one, Lucky."

"If you're quite finished with your debased humor-" Hawke starts, glancing over his shoulder with a frustrated look that immediately hardens when he's cut off by a smarmy voice.

"That innocent face is so deceiving, wouldn't you say? She never turned down a demon's offer before and I can assure you that some things _never_ change." The statement hangs in the air for a moment as we all realize who is being addressed, or more like who is being _tempted_. At first I thought the giant stalactite was talking about me when it mentioned deception. But _I've_ never made a deal with a demon. I steal an uneasy glance at Merrill who has her brow furrowed in consternation. With a flip of my stomach, I realize that both Hawke and Varric are watching the tiny elf like she's a ticking time bomb.

"Imagine how wonderful it would be to be the _savior_ of elvenkind," the demon continues when Merrill makes no move. I don't think she even _breathes_. "It's all you've ever dreamed of; to preserve the history of your people and raise them up from their abased condition."

Oh, this sneaky son of a bitch. That's _low_. And also rather frightening. I never knew how cunning demons could be, to prey on the innermost desires of a person and, in this case, a yearning for some unattainable dream. Hell, if I were Merrill I'd be sold. Actually, I'm pretty sure she _is_ sold judging by how she's gone so still and silent. This is all Merrill has ever wanted. She's always going on about elvish history and whatnot along with her creepy broken mirror. I wonder what I would be offered...?

"Could you really do that?" Her voice cuts through the silence like sharp glass.

"He's a demon of pride, Merrill. He won't truly give you what you desire," Hawke, the stern voice of reason, chastises.

After giving Hawke the stink eye, I turn to Merrill. "This guy, er, _demon_ is just trying to butter you up. Hey, if you want, I can try to help you fix your mirror. I'll look for some glue sticks and tape and you don't even have to give me your body in return! That part is _totally_ optional!"

I'm rewarded with an apologetic smile as Merrill steps away from the group, slowly drawing her staff. "I'm sorry, lethallan, but I cannot put you or anyone else above the needs of my people."

Through gritted teeth, I warn, "Merrill, _c'mon now_. We aren't talking about some small-time trade, here. We're talkin' _possession_. The type of thing that gets a Templar to chop your damn head off!"

You know, in all my time as a smuggler, it never really bothered me that an ally could turn on me. Elin didn't count because I never thought of him as a friend, so there was no love lost between us when he tried to bump me off and when I made him break his own neck. As a smuggler, it was to be expected that someone might flip and turn you in- it was just a fact that I accepted but never thought about all that often. Isabela once told me that it was wise to be cautious but not paranoid because paranoia makes you reckless. So, I ignored the cruel reality of betrayal being in my line of work. But I'm not even in the business anymore and this is _Merrill_ , not some no-name scumbag who invites me out to get wasted and calls _that_ friendship.

_This is Merrill…_

Hawke's cloak rips through the air like an inky spirit as he draws his golden staff and sends a spear of ice hurtling towards Merrill. The sick feeling that I get in my stomach when she erects a stone wall to deflect the projectile and fires back nearly makes me double over and spew the sweet bread and cured meat from earlier. Varric gives me a hard look as he readies Bianca. I know he's picked his side. I know I've picked _mine_. And with a heavy heart and veins full of adrenaline, I brandish Slicer and turn my back on Merrill.

I hiss to myself as I avoid looking at the two sparring mages, "This isn't real! This is the _dream_ world! Don't think about it!"

As Hawke focuses on the tiny Dalish elf who can pack a surprising punch, Varric and I attempt to fell the massive demon. This pride demon is a pain in the ass. For such a huge beast, you'd think it wouldn't be as agile as a gymnast. Okay, so I exaggerate. But I have to dodge a few potentially bone-shattering blows by practically throwing myself across the courtyard only to rinse and repeat since the big-ass bastard seems to only have eyes for me. Not that I _want_ the demon to Hulk smash Varric, but it'd be nice if I could stay on my feet for longer than five seconds to catch my breath, thank you very much.

"You okay, Lucky?" Varric calls as Bianca clicks and whirs, sending a bolt into the demon's inky purple flesh, "You've sure been landing on your face a lot!"

"Oh, yeah?" I grunt and hurtle myself to the left as a gargantuan fist shatters the ground where I was standing. "I hardly noticed! Now, would you kindly _finish this asshole off_?"

An anguished scream rips through the air and turns me to stone. Sadly, the scream does nothing for the demon and I'm knocked off of my feet as a cruel hand swats me away like a fly, pain exploding in the left side of my body like a wildfire. I connect with the ground with a harsh shout, my shoulder popping painfully under my weight. Somehow, I manage to hold onto my Lord (thank _God_ or I might have impaled myself), but my resilience in that respect isn't necessary as a jagged spike of ice harpoons through the pride demon's chest. Trying not to groan in pain or swear about Hawke stealing glory that was never going to be mine in the first place, I sit up.

The dwarven rogue sidles up to me, a look of genuine concern on his face as he asks, "You okay? That was quite a hit."

I shake my head, a ringing still prevalent in my left ear where the back of the demon's insanely large hand made contact with my puny head. "Yeah, I'm fine, Shortcake. That scream just caught me off-" My words freeze in my throat as my eyes land on a crumpled figure behind the dwarf. Slowly, I turn away from Merrill's fallen form. This is the Fade. Merrill is _fine_. That was quite a scare, but she's fine in the real world. Right? Varric watches me closely as I gnaw the inside of my cheek.

"Shall we proceed?"

The two of us whirl around to see our rumpled leader. A bit of blood dribbles down from a gash above his right eyebrow and I can't help but wince. I know I'm no debutante at the moment, hell my face feels pretty puffy and I'm sure I probably have a monster of a shiner, but Hawke looks really damn rough. The Fade sure is a real bitch and I can only hope that we won't remain roughed up when we get back to the real world. That would suck, wouldn't it? Speaking of potential real-life repercussions from the Fade, I'm about to question Hawke about whether or not Merrill will indeed be fine, but when I glance back to where she lay, I find that she's gone.

_I guess that answers that?_

Placing a hand on my painfully swollen cheek, I nod. "Let's get this over with before anyone else decides to ruin my moneymaker."

"I'm with Lucky on that one," Varric agrees with a hint of a smirk, "I don't think she can take anymore hits like that."

I know he's making a joke at my expense and I scoff, "Hey! This is no laughing matter! I'm lucky that ginormous bastard didn't break my neck with that hit! He nearly pimp-slapped me into another dimension," I grumble the last part.

I swear I see Hawke roll his eyes as he turns and leaves the room. "We have to find Feynriel again. I'm sure more demons have pursued him."

"Don't worry, Lucky. Daisy will be waiting for us back in the Alienage." Varric gives me a knowing look before following Hawke.

Sighing heavily, I follow the two men to yet another room with yet another shimmery veil. Already sick and tired of this nonsense (mostly due to the fact that half my face is aching like mad which is making it hard for me to see), I stalk into the room before either Hawke or Varric can say anything. I figure if I'm going to get backhanded by another demon, I might as well get it over with early so we can all get the hell out of here. I'm being reckless and stupid but I just saw my friend "die" and I'm done. I'm just… So goddamn done with this place.

I don't really care about any of this mage business. Actually, I _do_ care. Just a bit. A lot. Because if we don't sort this shit out some cute blond kid is going to get possessed by a damn demon. And like hell will that happen on my watch (especially since I saw how worried his mom looked). Yes, I don't know Feynriel from a hole in the wall but possession is something I wouldn't wish on even my worst enemy. Because although Carrow's "possession" of me is intrusive and scary, I don't think any demon will allow Feynriel the courtesy of remaining in control of himself.

I'm pretty keyed up when I enter the room, in all honesty. But it's not because I get off on being assaulted by demons. Feynriel is here, yes, in _child form_ and he's talking to some scummy looking man. I don't stop to coo over how adorable Feynriel is as a kid or crack a joke about how he isn't nearly as cute anymore now that he's grown up and puberty has wrecked him. Instead, I waltz up to the imposter and point my Lord at the man's face. "You," I grunt, finding it harder to speak as the swelling in my face increases, "step away from the kid."

The man and I both ignore Feynriel's histrionics and my group's griping. A smile slowly crawls across the man's tanned face, his bluish-green eyes glittering mirthlessly. With careful, deliberate movements, he stands and tilts his head toward me. "Ah, I see that a bigger prize is to be won," he says with a heavily accented voice. I don't think this one's about to slap me anytime soon...

I can't help myself as I frown, my sword arm faltering, and I wonder as if it's dreadfully important, "Are you Antivan?"

* * *

I awake with an exaggerated yawn, stretching out my arms and legs only to find myself curled up on an uncomfortable leather couch. Couch? What the _hell_? Alarmed, I shoot upright and make to grab Slicer from my back. My expectant hand closes on a long black pigtail. I blink down at the wavy tresses. Why did I grab my hair when I woke up? No... I was trying to grab something else, right...? Looking around, I furrow my brow at the familiarly pretentious living room in the small but wildly expensive apartment- Oh, I'm sorry, _loft_. Large canvases splattered with earthy tones and a smattering of vivid red decorate the walls.

_She calls that collection: The Decay of Nature. God, I hate abstract art._

A clatter of metal against metal catches my fleeting attention. Getting to my feet, I make my way towards what I'm positive is the kitchen. The smooth tile is cold against my bare feet and a shiver runs up my spine in response. I squint at the sight before me: the white kitchen that's spotless from disuse, the vast collection of wine on the far wall, and the slender back of the tall woman standing at the sink. A sharp pain shoots through my frontal lobe and I stagger into the door frame. "Ugh. What was that?" I groan aloud, causing the woman to stiffen.

"Wilhelmina?" My heart stops at the sound of that melodious voice. My mother has always sounded like an angel even when she was bitching me out. Like now. The memory is so fresh. She never changed that voice to match the ugliness of the things she'd say to me. Never. My heart restarts as the woman at the sink, my _mother_ , turns around with her arms crossed. Her gorgeous dark brown hair is pulled into an elegant chignon and she's wearing a simple, robin's egg blue dress. She's stunning, as usual.

"Mom? What're you doing here?"

Eyes like warm carnelians brighten as the woman smiles at me lovingly. Seamlessly, she glosses over my question but I find no need to pressure her for an answer. "Did you have a pleasant nap? I know that you must have been _so_ tired from your studies. You really ought to give yourself a break every now and then. Especially _today_. My sweet girl is fourteen today." My mother approaches me and steers me to the table with a firm hand. "Sit, Wilhelmina. I was just putting the finishing touches on your birthday dinner."

As I sit at the table, smiling like a fool, I can't help the nagging feeling in my head. Something about this isn't right. My mom hasn't ever been anything but a frigid bitch to me since she kicked me out from under her roof at the tender age of six, just months after Mike was born. Sure I was allowed visits, but only when Michael begged our mom to have me over. I've never, _ever_ had a birthday with my mom past the age of six... But this is nice. My heart is filled with joy but that little voice of doubt in my head is ruining everything.

"I got you a present."

I look up as my mom turns her head to whisper conspiratorially over her shoulder, a mischievous smile on her face. Her dark eyes glance back toward the stove as she hums a soft little tune before checking something in the oven. I suddenly notice all of the food on the counter-tops. Was that always there? I ignore it to ask, "A present, you say?"

"Yes, my love."

"Aw, how sweet of you!"

My fourteenth birthday, Mike got me an over-sized plush toy that nearly smothered me in my sleep once. If I remember correctly, it was a petal pink cat with chocolate colored eyes and wiry whiskers that could draw blood if you weren't careful. I had my fourteenth birthday at my grandparents' house as usual that year. After much begging on both our parts, Mike and I had convinced our mom to let my Uncle Carl pick Mike up and bring him over. I didn't have my birthday _here_. No... I didn't have my birthday in the apartment that I was only allowed in on special occasions.

_This is a dream, right? It_ can't _be a memory._

For whatever reason, that thought sends a shock of panic through me and my vision quivers. Heart stutters, gut clenches. On my lap, my hands shake. As if sensing my doubt, my mom comes to my side and places a plate laden with all of my favorite foods in front of me. I blink a few times to clear my vision. The shock is forgotten instantly as I grin up at my mom's beautiful, smiling face. This is nice. It's nice... It's nice, _right_? If it is, then why am I getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach?

"Eat your food, Wilhelmina," my mom urges, tone firm, and I comply without question.

I dig into the food with gusto. The entire table is covered with platters of roasted chicken drizzled with an orange glaze, homemade pot pies oozing with gravy, green beans swimming in garlic sauce, and steamed cauliflower with red peppers. Dishes of honeyed cashews with a sprinkling of salt, sumptuous pork pies dripping with gristle, and fresh mixed greens sit on my right while a tray of fragrant lemon macarons, warm sugar cookies, and cherry turnovers caked in sugar sit on my left. I'm surprised that all of this food fits on the table, but I'm a bit too preoccupied with stuffing my face to think twice about it.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" The tinkling voice of my mom asks after I've been wolfing down food for a while. "Would you like some more, sweetheart?"

Looking up, I nod eagerly, mouth too full for me to respond. My mom smiles warmly at me and I find that I suddenly want to cry. Putting down my fork and wiping my mouth, I'm about to ask my mom why she's being so kind when I realize that two other people are sitting at the table with us. A tall man with dark hair and bright, golden eyes stares at me with an odd look of pity. He's very handsome but the look on his face irritates me. I turn my attention onto the other intruder. This one is short for a man but he's taller than me. He has golden blond hair that I'm immediately envious of. A blush rushes to my cheeks at the sight of his exposed chest and I cease looking at him after he shoots me wink.

_Wait... Hawke? Varric? What the hell?_

Clearing my throat I ask, "What are you two doing here?"

My mom's eyes darken but she never loses that smile. "Ignore them, Wilhelmina. Keep eating."

I frown as I stab a rectangle of red pepper with my fork. "Uh, well, this is awkward. I can't just _ignore_ them, mom. Hawke is my _boss_."

"Wilhelmina," my mom starts, her tone warning.

I sigh, "You two," I point at the men, "leave. Now. You're intruding."

The rogue grins almost uncomfortably. "Listen, Lucky. We've been standing here watching you eat for nearly an hour. I'll admit it was amusing for the first ten minutes, but after the half hour mark it started to become a _bit..._ unsettling."

_What?_

Searing pain shoots through my head and I gasp out, "Wh-What? You've been here the whole time?"

"Mina," Hawke starts in a startlingly deep voice, "you need to stop this. Snap out of it."

My brow crinkles. "Snap out of _what_? This is just a... a..."

Golden eyes smolder. "Do you really wish to be doted on by a woman who _you_ told me could never love you as much as you love her?"

My cheeks feel like they're on fire at that bold question. "My mother _loves me_ , thank you very much!"

"Yes, but for how long?" The mage's words cut me down to the bone. "From what you have told me, your mother's emotions are fleeting and erratic at best and you have _never_ been the object of her affections. So, knowing this, does it really make sense to you that she would treat you so kindly?"

_He's right._

"Just what are you getting at?" I swallow thickly, stomach churning like I might throw up.

Hawke sighs, "This is a dream. I know you know that. But it's a dream concocted by a desire demon and you _must_ snap out of it. You deserve more, Mina. This should be a _nightmare_ to you, not a fantasy. You're a charming woman and you do not need to seek the affections of someone as unwilling and, if you'll excuse me, _undeserving_ as your mother."

_Desire demon? Wha- Wait a second!_

Aw, son of a _bitch_. I feel really, really stupid for not realizing it immediately, so I decide to play it off with theatrics. A sharp sting blossoms in both my palms as I slam them onto the table and stand up. "I _know_ that this is a dream, Hawke. I'm not an _idiot_!" Turning wildly toward my mother, I snap, "Hey, demon! If this is the best you can do, then I'm not surprised that you haven't been able to crawl your way into the land of the living yet. Step up your possession game, asshole!"

"Easy now, Lucky," Varric starts, raising his hands like he's trying to disarm me, "there's no need to get upset. I think, at this point, you're even trying the demon's patience. You _have_ been in this weird food-fetish dream for a while."

_Food fetish? Dear lord._

"Yes, but I'm _so_ close," a voice like poisoned honey croons. "Sweetest Wilhelmina, why must you question everything so? You ruin the dream that way. Simply bask in the blissfulness of the moment and I promise you, you _will_ be happy for the rest of your days. I can make you happy. Together... we can make _all_ of your dreams come true."

I gawk in intrigued horror as my mother transforms into a purple humanoid creature. Long horns of ebony curve back from her delicate brow. Intricate, thin golden chains are all that adorn her curvaceous body and I'm glad that I'm too horrified to blush. I mean, nipple rings? Really? God damn, I'm _so_ having nightmares involving my mom and nipple rings for the rest of my damn life. I wonder if there are psychiatrists in Thedas 'cause I'm definitely gonna to need therapy now more than ever.

"Oh, _God_." I wince and look away. "Please, transform back! Or take that memory away with you when we kill you, at the very least."

"How about we take down the demon and get out of here instead of making requests?" Varric quirks his brow at me, obviously eager to escape the Fade. "Because I _think_ they might view that kind of thing as bargaining."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, sur-" I freeze. I'm completely unarmed. In fact, I'm still barefoot and wearing a simple cotton dress. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I groan when I realize that, _yet again_ , I'm going to be completely useless in this fight. For the sake of my own pride, I try to ignore the ensuing battle and have to bite my cheek when Varric and Hawke shove my helpless self out of harm's way on more than one occasion, given that the scantily clad demon summoned a posse of Shades the second the battle started.

I feel like a human hockey puck with how the two take turns shuffling me around the battlefield away from the rival team. By the end of it, I'm thoroughly humiliated and eager to turn tail and run home the second we get back into the real world. Sulking, I follow Hawke and Varric as they hunt down Feynriel, who had apparently taken off _again_ when the desire demon showed her true form and captivated me in her little food fairytale.

I keep my distance as we approach the seemingly lost young man. He looks conflicted and mentions something about his ability, which makes me squirm a bit. When Hawke is busy playing counselor and talking Feynriel through his options on what to do with the rest of his overly-complicated life, Varric approaches me. Honey brown eyes look at me searchingly before the dwarf crosses his arms and hums, "Don't look so put out, Lucky. You didn't accept the demon's bargain, which is quite a feat in itself. That was quite an intricate ruse that she cooked up just for you," the dwarf smiles at his own pun.

_Yeah, I wonder why she expended so much energy? Maybe Carrow was right?_

I pout my lower lip. "But I still got sucked into it. Hell, don't tell Hawke, but I _almost_ bought it. I thought it was just a normal dream, for crying out loud! If you two hadn't come along and shaken some sense into me, I'm sure I would've stayed there forever, still thinking it was all a dream."

He laughs, "That's doubtful. You're a smart woman, Lucky. You would have figured it out eventually."

"Before or after the demon took over my body and I went running through the streets, toppling over food carts, as an abomination?"

The dwarf opens his mouth to make a quip when everything turns a blinding white and a tingling sensation overtakes my body. When the light finally fades, I'm staring up at the dilapidated ceiling of the elven woman's home. My back is stiff from having been lying down on the cold floor for who knows how long. Rubbing my hands over my eyes, I'm relieved to discover that my face isn't swollen and a quick patting of my hair tells me that I'm my normal, short-haired self. With a sigh, I prepare to face the real world. Just as I begin to settle onto my elbows and push myself up, a presence shifts beside me and my vision is filled with two sorrowful green eyes.

_Merrill!_

I bolt upright and immediately regret it. "Oh!" I groan and clutch my head, "Bad idea."

"I'm so sorry." Her voice is soft and meek and nearly breaks my heart. I breathe in and out slowly before finally lifting my gaze to see the elf. She's staring at the floor, kneeling next to me. I'll readily admit that her betrayal came as a shock, but what am I supposed to do? Ignore her forever for so easily turning her back on me? On _us_? I heard her disdain before the whole ordeal, when she was talking to Varric about the trials to come in the Fade.

She had mentioned a "half-breed" at some point and I didn't understand what she meant at first. But she was talking about the pretty boy, Feynriel. The offense in her tone, at the idea of the Keeper going out of her way to protect "some half-breed" when she wouldn't lift a finger to aid Merrill in her quest to preserve elven history... I saw it all coming. Passively, sure. But I knew it was coming. Eyes narrow as I huff, drawing Merrill's attention onto me. "You don't need to apologize for anything."

The elf's pale cheeks flush pink. "But I do. I betrayed you all."

Giving her a pointed look, I ask, "And did anything bad come of it? Will you do it again?"

"I- Well, no." Her brow furrows.

"Exactly." I grin and stand before offering her my hand. "So don't apologize. Learn from it and maybe don't let me get backhanded into oblivion again," I lamely joke.

Emerald eyes flicker between my face and my hand before she accepts my help. With a grunt, I pull her up. Her hand lingers in mine for a moment before she steps back and says that she's going to go and apologize to Hawke because he apparently isn't as forgiving as I am. I purse my lips and nod as the elf tentatively makes her way to our comrades who are informing Feynriel's mother and the Keeper of what all went down in the Fade.

It's obvious that neither the Keeper nor the boy's mother are too thrilled about Feynriel being "loose," like he's some sort of wild animal. Would they prefer that the kid be locked up in some tower, never to see the light of day again? To be the easy prey of some bored Templar? To never even have the choice to see either of them again? Maybe if they heard the stories Carrow told me, they would be happy that Hawke decided to counsel Feynriel and support his decision to walk free. Maybe. I mean, Feynriel didn't seem like a crazy Carrow to me, so I'm glad he's free. He's a total stranger, but I'm happy for the kid.

_He'll probably be lonely._

I brush off that errant thought as I head outside. It's still daylight when I step out into the Alienage. The air is refreshing, a great change from the somewhat stifling feeling from the Fade. Legs move of their own accord, taking me up the stairs from the Alienage and toward my rundown home. My mind is filled with the horrid things that Hawke and Varric, of all people, saw. Why couldn't my fantasy have been some weird sex thing? That would've been less mortifying than the two men knowing about my _mommy issues_. I'm almost at the door when I hear hurried steps behind me.

Face tightening, I just manage to graze the dagger on my thigh with my fingertips when I hear Hawke call after me. Surprised, I whirl around before simply addressing him. "Hawke."

"Your payment." The mage nods, extending a closed fist and emptying a few coins into my palm when I numbly outstretch it.

_I'm surprised he isn't making a big deal about what happened in the Fade._

Just as the mage turns to leave, I blurt, "Hawke."

Dark eyebrows rise slightly. "Yes?"

My throat constricts and for a second I think it would be better for me to projectile vomit on him instead of saying a vague, "Thank you."

Golden eyes blink curiously. "What do you mean? You earned that money."

"No. I mean-" I groan and tug at my cowl, "you know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I do not," Hawke replies casually, looking genuinely confused.

Uncomfortable even though _I_ just put _myself_ in this situation, I say haltingly and at great length, "Thank you for... helping me with that illusion. I mean, I _knew_ it was a dream but I kinda forgot about the demons in the Fade... But thank you." I blabber, "And for what you said. I'm glad that you think so."

The mage's face softens. "Glad that I think what?"

_Oh my gosh. Don't you even_ say it _, Mina!_

A wide, fake grin rips across my face as doubt gets the jump on me. "Nothing! Have a nice day!"

"Mina," Hawke says sternly.

Slowly and deliberately, I turn away from the mage and fish around in my pockets for my key. I silently hope that he understands that I don't want him to push the subject. But when has Hawke ever minded his own business? Just as I find my key, the brunet's hand is on my shoulder and I turn to look at him. I'm less than amused. I'd rather we all just forget about my one great fantasy... Wouldn't normal people fantasize about having a hot spouse or a bunch of money or something in _that_ ballpark? But, no. My fantasy had to be weirdly personal.

"I know I brought it up, but can we just drop it?" I sigh.

His expression dares me to contradict him when he asks, "Are you glad that I think you are a charming woman who is worthy of someone's unconditional love?"

Face aflame, I hastily snap to save face, "No! I'm glad that you paid me even though I wasn't _invited_ on the job. Remember?"

He releases my shoulder like I spat on him and I whip around, unlock the door, and shut it behind me. My blood is pumping like mad, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I want to open the door again and tell him I'm sorry, that I only went on this stupid job to woo him, and that I obviously failed miserably. But I don't. I'm far too ashamed. I push him from my mind. I push _her_ from my mind. Without a second thought about the mage who is most likely still standing on my doorstep, I throw myself onto my bed and force myself to sleep.

* * *

Damp coldness awakes me and I bolt up when I realize that I'm lying down in snow and wearing nothing but my thin sleeping clothes. Violent curses fall from my lips as I rub my arms and jump from foot to foot. As I'm about to swear some more, I hear a soft, breathy sigh. Freezing to the spot, I look around and groan. Two nights in a row? _Really_? I sure am lacking in the creativity department. Although the steely mountains and bloody sky were interesting on the first night, this crap is starting to get old already. Now that I realize that this is just one of my trippy dreams, the cold ceases to bother me which is an immense relief.

Glaring around, I ask the vast emptiness, " _This_ again?"

Truth be told, I'm probably coming across far too jaded for something like this; for casual possessions and Summoned mumbo jumbo, for blood magic and Fade-walking. It's a coping mechanism. It's a way of nonchalantly brushing aside all of these startling developments that have been foisted upon me. There's more than likely a great comedown headed my way. That's usually how these things go, right?

You know what I mean. When there's something that one just doesn't want to fully acknowledge or process, sometimes a persona of flippancy feels like the safer option than the alternative: actually facing the problem. And in truth, I don't know what to _do_ about any of this. It's all been slowly, stealthily creeping up on me; like a deadline or an exam that I haven't studied for but know is right around the corner. 

Because I'm me. I grew up in a normal city, raised by normal people. None of my public education told me what to do in case a blood mage resurrected me. There was no class on Avoiding Possession 101. Maybe I could've taken some psych classes to figure out why my brother is acting so strangely- like he's distant and cold one moment and then his usual self the next? But I didn't, because I didn't foresee that being an issue. He never had a history of that behavior. But now he's here, too, and... Everything is different.

See? It's better to avoid these things. At least until I can find someone (Kiriyama? Carrow?) who can help me.

Here in this dream realm, I'm about to call out for Carrow when I turn and see a man standing behind me. I visibly startle, not having heard him in the slightest. He's on the short side but he's maybe an inch or two taller than me and he's alarmingly thin. His hair is a fathomless black and it's impossibly unruly. Dark eyes like thick mud stare past me. The man's thin lips move as if he's talking but I can't hear a word that he says. Curious, I move towards him. Only then do I begin to hear what he's saying.

"I wandered for a year before you brought me to you. A _year_. All alone for a year before you brought me here. I slit my wrists. I was ready to go. But _you_ brought me here and haven't spoken a word since. Your silence is maddening. You used to speak to me. But now the silence…" Fevered words, hushed. The words come tumbling from him, like he can't hold them in.

Stomach lurching at what he's saying, I wonder tentatively, "Wh-Who are you?"

He doesn't respond, he simply takes a few steps past me. Thin arms are crossed over his chest and his back is to me. He doesn't move after that. Doesn't respond. More than a little alarmed, I give him a wide berth as I walk around him. A slight pinch in my brain prompts me to ignore the oddities of the man and instead focus on figuring out why I'm seemingly doomed to dream about the mountains and the creepy door all over again. Am I supposed to do something here?

Giving the new addition to this dream a sideways glance, an eerie screech of rusted metal grating on rusted metal seems to rip my thoughts right out of me. Slowly, I turn my head to the side. The door hangs ajar, a swirling vortex just beyond the threshold. The man's eyes are trained on the fathomless blackness ahead, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. I feel a draw to the void, beckoning me forward. My feet move despite my efforts to stay put. This doesn't feel right. This feels wrong. This feels _wrong_ on so many levels.

A deep dread settles in my stomach as I inch closer and closer against my will. Magic crackles against my skin like electricity and I look desperately over my shoulder to call to the stranger for help. He doesn't make to move towards me, opting to stay put and watch with morbid curiosity. With a leap of my heart I realize I'm going to get no help. Turning back toward the door, I mean to swallow and put on a brave face, but instead I scream. Two large slivers stare me down, glowing like hellfire against the darkness. They blink slowly. My toes knock against the cold threshold and molten breath slams into me. I think it's the only thing that keeps me from tumbling into the void.

"H-Hey!" I yell out to the stranger, hands clamped down on the door frame, " _Help me_!" The breath, like putting my face right at the opening of an oven, blasts over me with its intense heat and I'm reminded of a time not too long ago. I've felt a very similar heat before and the memory sends my heart spiraling into a vat of acid. This is just like the time with the dragon. The _dragon_. Oh my God… I scream, voice cracking, "Dragon!"

"That's not a dragon," the strange man's voice is barely a whisper of awe. The stranger looks like he might cry, face twisted in some pained emotion. "He's finally gonna speak again."

Looking over my shoulder with wild eyes, I shout, "I don't care if it's a dragon or not, you freak! _Help me_ before I wring your neck!"

A great, rumbling voice rattles my bones and rips away any ability to think or speak, " _Come to me…_ "

"No!"

My eyes snap open to darkness, heart hammering like mad in my chest. Throat is raw from screaming out that one word with all my might. My breathing is haggard, bordering on sobbing, as I sit up and pull my legs up to my chest. I rest my chin on my knees and stare, wild-eyed, around the room. There aren't any glowing eyes. The stranger isn't here. It's dark out already. I'm all alone. Well, I'm all alone until someone begins to bang on my front door.


	36. The Shape of Dragons

**27\. The Shape of Dragons**

My still disoriented self stares at the door and I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue. My throat is so raw that when I first attempt to speak, to ask who is at the door, a disgraceful squeak escapes me and I'm left with the faintest tang of blood in my mouth. Frustrated, I massage the column of my throat and am half tempted to go make myself some hot tea. As I get up I'm about to wrap myself in my blanket, but then I realize that I'm still in full fighting gear and _not_ in the flimsy nightdress from my dream. At least _that's_ a relief, but my anxiety levels are shooting through the roof with the loud banging that seems to shake the whole house. I swear, it almost sounds like whoever is out there is trying to kick it dow-

"Mina!"

_Son of a bitch!_

I barely hear his baritone voice over the ear-shattering crack and slam of the door nearly coming off of its hinges and banging against the wall. Glowering at the splintered door, I turn my hellfire gaze onto a disgruntled, rumpled Garrett Hawke. Golden eyes are everywhere, first scanning the interior of my home for some perpetrator and then taking me in with a critical eye. His staff is in his right hand, held slightly away from his cloaked figure as if ready to fire off a spell at the drop of a hat. This battle stance makes me hesitate to berate him, but I do so anyway in my usual half-thinking fashion, which is a habit that I should _probably_ try to do away with.

"Thanks for ruining my door, Hawke!" I wince when my reproof comes out grating.

"I apologize for my concern being more focused on you and not your damned door," the mage replies sarcastically, voice strained, as he puts away his staff in one elegant motion, cheeks flushed from the effort of kicking my door in.

_I hope you pulled a muscle. Doors are expensive!_

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I ask stupidly, because his reason is actually glaringly obvious and I want to slap myself for even asking.

His lips purse as if he's thinking I'm a fool, too. "I heard you screaming. Are you all right?"

My cheeks burn as I try to come off aloof. "It-It was just a bad dream. I'm totally fine."

A beat of painful silence passes. The blue moonlight filters down onto him, illuminating his tall figure in the doorway. He looks rather intimidating in this scene; almost inky black with that midnight backdrop, golden eyes absorbing all available light to seemingly glow in the darkness. Little particles still float in the air from when he kicked the door in. They look like faeries dancing around, white and ethereal. I find that I've been gnawing on my lip so hard that I'm on the verge of drawing blood. Gold eyes flick down to my lips and quickly return to my eyes.

"So I see."

Clearing my throat gingerly, I rub at my scar. "Er, this is the part where you leave."

He shifts his weight uncomfortably from his right foot to his left, the light catching the side of his face, hesitant to leave. "Do you have nightmares often?"

"What? Oh, no. Not really." I shrug. "Usually my nightmares involve wrestling with the Grand Cleric in a tub of oil while that big Qunari guy at the docks cheers her on. She always wins."

"I didn't need to know that." The mage frowns but the corner of his mouth twitches.

"You asked."

Suddenly he looks severe. "You have seemed troubled since you came back to us."

_Oh, not_ this _again._

Yeah, Merrill has been the only one to say that to me, but I'm already growing tired of people pointing out that I don't wear anxiety well. A shoulder comes up nonchalantly. "Merrill said the same thing. Except she was a bit more poetic and said something about me looking like I'm _far away_ all the time or some nonsense," I respond airily.

"Merrill was right."

Teeth dig into my bottom lip when I realize that Hawke has been giving me an unreadable look. _And_ that he obviously doesn't want to leave me alone. "Uh, well, if you're not gonna leave any time soon... Do you want to come in? I can make a fire and brew some tea. I think I have some water left over from earlier..." I trail off as my voice begins to fail me and I retreat back into my dank, dark little home and begin setting everything up.

The grinding sound of a broken and battered door being closed reaches my ears as I scuttle about, trying to pick through containers of tea and sift through all of the crap on the table in the dark. I swear softly when my hand slaps onto what remains of the cured meat. Dammit! Can't believe that I forgot to put that away. It's a wonder we don't have rats. A warm light suddenly fills the small room and I turn to see Hawke with his hand ablaze, squatting before the fireplace. I turn around quickly just as he begins to turn his head in my direction and I get all of the necessary materials ready for tea.

"I'll do it," Hawke murmurs, suddenly by my side when I struggle with the kettle of water, taking it gently from my hands. I think he notices when I recoil from him and amble away, our previous "sexual-but-not-so-sexual tension" and conversations not at all forgotten. But if he notices, he doesn't say a thing other than, "Mina?" Just the sound of my name wrenches me forcefully from my thoughts. At the now fully crackling fireplace, Hawke is illuminated in the warm light. Shadows dance across his blank face as he watches me. Swallowing audibly, I fake a smile and make my way over to him.

With a strained grunt to clear my throat, I gesture toward the two cups of steaming tea. "Thanks."

"It was no trouble," Hawke pauses as he watches me sit, "I made sure that I didn't grab any poison by mistake."

My eyes dart up to find him looking quietly pleased with himself for that little quip and I roll my eyes. "It was an honest mistake. Besides, you weren't even there when it happened."

He merely hums his acknowledgment that he heard me and we fall back into silence. Fingernails scrape against the side of the earthen cup for a moment before I fully grasp it and bring it to my lips. The tea is very pungent and the earthy, almost acrid flavor of elfroot dominates the more subtle tones of whatever flowery thing is in that terrible tea that I have no doubt was concocted by a demon. I almost spit it out the second the flavor explodes like a stink bomb onto my tongue, but I doubt Hawke would be too amused to be covered in tea and saliva.

Molten gold eyes watch me, humor glimmering in their depths, before the mage gently places his own cup down and fixes me with a stern look. I feel a lecture coming on. And I'm kinda right as he says, "Drink. It will soothe your throat."

Not wanting to come across like a petulant child, I mumble a gruff, "Fine," and toss the entire thing back like a scalding hot shot, trying not to wince.

"Not like _that,_ " the mage sighs, rubbing his temples.

"You told me to dri- Hey!" I exclaim, hand shooting to my throat when I realize that I don't feel like I'm trying to talk with a throat full of glass, "Wow! That was fast!"

"Elfroot is lauded for its medicinal properties."

I purse my lips at the prim mage. "Oh, Jesus. I _know_ that, Hawke."

Again, the silence is killing me. Why are we always falling into silence? My toes curl in my boots as I clench my jaw. Usually, speaking comes so easily to me. I can shoot the breeze with strangers for hours on end. Suppose it has something to do with the millions of things eating away at me. Suppose it has something to do with how perceptive Hawke seems to be when it comes to said millions of things eating away at me.

"Mother wanted me to ask you over to supper," Hawke's voice jolts me into awareness, "I heard you cry out as I was crossing the courtyard."

_Oh. That's totally not embarrassing at all._

My fingers drum against the table. "Oh, I see. If I was _that_ loud, it's honestly no wonder my throat was so raw."

"Was your dream truly about the Grand Cleric?"

I'm thrown off by his question but quickly recover with a laugh, "What? Why?"

"You sounded so panicked. It sounded like you genuinely feared for your life," he says quietly, leveling me with his unblinking gaze.

I look away. "This time I was wrestling the Aard-er-" Don't you _dare_ say aardvark. "The Arishok," I finally spit out, quietly pleased with myself for getting it right.

Hawke knows I'm lying. _Damn_ him and his ability to see right through me. I can feel my cheeks heating up as he so boldly stares with that ever-brooding look on his face. I wish I could read people as easily as this guy. But I guess being an apostate makes one more attuned to such things. An untrustworthy person could mean a lifetime in the Circle for someone like Hawke. You know... I don't know why the Chantry refers to mages as apostates, though. I've met many mages who still subscribe to the Chantry's teachings of the Maker and Andraste, so it's not as though all mages "dropped out" of that religion. But the term seems to have stuck and I often find myself using the word to refer to mages. Like now.

Hawke clears his throat and I look up to find him staring fixedly at the table like it holds the secrets to life. "I apologize for before. It was not my place to imply that you do not deem yourself worthy of another individual's affections."

_What? Why bring this up_ now _? He couldn't have been thinking on it this whole time, right?_

"It's okay," I reply slowly, not looking up from my empty cup, "it's just… um..." I throw him a strained smile. Out of all of the things that I need to resolve, this thing with Hawke is by far the easiest. A sad state of affairs, considering I find romantic confessions horrifying. But I know how to deal with _romance_ a helluva lot better than I do _blood magic_. Sure, I stupidly shot Hawke down not 24-hours ago and I wouldn't blame him for turning me away. But if I don't at least _try.._. I'll probably hate myself. However, I think I need to gently lead up to my sudden about-face with regard to my stance on staying in this city. For example, I should explain _why_ I'm staying so I don't seem like a total flake. "Can I tell you something stupid?"

"Of course," Hawke responds immediately and watches me curiously. "Though I highly doubt it's 'stupid.'"

_Speakin' too soon, Hawke._

"Okay, so," I run my fingers through my hair nervously, "as you can tell, I'm actually sticking around in Kirkwall for a bit longer. Truth is, I'm kinda in over my head with some personal matters. I'm waiting to get in contact with," Kiriyama, "an _expert_ on these issues, so don't worry about that. Besides, I'm pretty sure my brother would just resent the hell out of me if I forced him to live out in the countryside, isolated. And if you knew my brother you'd know his silent treatment is _the worst_. I may be the older sibling but he's never made raising him easy." I roll my eyes, loosening up.

"So, you're staying in Kirkwall until you can find a better solution for your troubles? How is that foolish?" Hawke queries, brow furrowed.

Because my brother likes killing magic users and I'm _pretty sure_ there are quite a few apostates hiding out in Kirkwall, not to mention the fun fact that I supposedly give off magic each time I use my compulsion. It's insanely risky of me to keep Michael here while I try to capitalize on Carrow's fondness of me to get me into contact with Kiriyama- who may or may not even help me or have the ability to help me. This could all blow up wonderfully in my face. I want my brother to be safe but I want him _happy_ , too. I just… God, I really, really need to find Kiriyama. Where the _hell_ is he?

But in the meantime... Well, it's not like going about business as usual is exactly a viable option, now is it? I can't chase a lead called Kiriyama while neglecting to inform my allies of the "Mike Threat." That's just bad parenting. That'd just shove something called "culpability" onto my back if Michael were to have one of his episodes while I'm off entreating a blood mage to play that part of Kiriyama's receptionist. This is a delicate subject, to be sure. I can't just hit Hawke with it and expect him to be unfazed. I also don't want to paint my own brother in an unflattering light.

Drumming my fingers against the table, I respond carefully, "Remember when I said that I needed to take my brother away to deal with all that's happened? To, in a sense, recuperate?" When Hawke nods, I continue, "That wasn't a total lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. You see, my brother, Michael, reacts... strangely around mages." Oh, I so shouldn't have paused all dramatically like that, but I was _trying_ to find a less dubious adverb! Too bad I seemingly picked the exact wrong one.

The mage's dark brow scrunches up suspiciously. "How so?"

"It… Might be a result from trauma? I don't really know. But he gets rather violent if a mage uses magic around him." The second I see the hesitance in those golden eyes, I hasten to explain. "Back in Ferelden, I never really told anyone here about what happened. When I was with the blood mage, I mean." Heartbeat picks up, anxiety flooding my system at even broaching this subject. I can feel my breathing becoming erratic, panicked. Warmth encases my hand. I look down, shocked to find Hawke holding my hand.

"Are you all right, Mina?" He leans forward earnestly, eyes searching my face. I'm surprised he'd even bother trying to console me after I blew him off. Hawke's always been that way, though. Annoyingly noble and pious to the point that it shames me. I stare at his large pale hand around my darker one. Eyes trace a burn scar and a few fine scars that look like the product of a blade. Truthfully, I'm trying to talk myself out of exposing myself like this. I don't _want_ to talk about what happened in Carrow's dungeon. In fact, for the longest time I pretended it never even happened. But I have to do this for Mike. And maybe a bit for myself.

"Ye-" My voice breaks and I clear my throat, "Yeah. Um. Back in Ferelden, after the blood mage summoned me, he tortured me for weeks. He played so many damn head games and each one I failed was rewarded with physical violence. It was only a month but it felt like I was in that dungeon for years. I was isolated, scared, and I was so damn angry. And when I got out, when I finally _escaped_ , I admit that I was petrified of mages." Cheeks heat up under the mage's intense gaze. "Every time I came across a mage, I thought they somehow knew Carrow and would turn me in or, worse, hurt me. My reaction was to distance myself. I think… my brother's reaction is to hurt mages, even ones who never wronged him."

It's a safety net of a lie for my brother's sake. Michael's fondness for killing mage's doesn't stem from trauma. Oh, no. It's something that can't be treated. At least, I don't think it can. Is the Summoned _affliction_ curable? I'd think not. This? It's better than admitting to Garrett Hawke that hurting mages is now in my brother's nature. This also helps me a bit, as selfish as that sounds. Even as my heart palpitates, I feel... lighter somehow. Scared, but more at ease, if that makes any sense. Doubtful. 

It's silent for a moment as Hawke takes this all in. Golden eyes watch me with a peculiar, sad little gleam. His grip on my hand tightens a bit and I look away. Finally, Hawke says, "I understand. Since this is clearly a difficult subject for you to talk about, I could perhaps broach the subject with Anders and Merrill if you would like for them to be aware of the situation." Garrett strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. "Merrill had already mentioned that you no longer wanted her near your home. I suppose this is the reason why?"

Relief hits me like a wave and I (begrudgingly) remove my hand from Hawke's as I run my fingers through my hair again and sigh, "Yes, this is why I didn't want her around. And would you please tell them both? I know it seems cowardly for me not to do it myself, but even telling you so little about what happened felt… draining," I admit lamely, heart in my throat. "It would make things much easier for me, considering I have a really personal stake in this."

"It would be my honor." The mage tilts his head toward me and sighs, "I don't know why you thought that was foolish. You were merely being cautious." When I'm silent for too long, Garrett suddenly professes, "I swear to you that I will do what I can for your brother's welfare… _and_ yours." Golden eyes appraise the small room. "We could find a better home for you two so he could be safe. I know you said he has a reaction of sorts to magic, so the home would have to be rather secluded but not enough to make him feel isolated from society."

Honestly, I can't help the way my cheeks immediately flush the second those words come out of his mouth. Past experiences of working for crooked, scheming employers comes flooding back and I snap defensively, "I don't need any 'favors,' Hawke. I'm honestly kind of insulted that you would imply that I can't-"

"This isn't me trying to put you into my debt under the guise of concern, Mina," Garrett immediately interrupts, hiding his irritation at how I so quickly suggested something like that.

Now my cheeks flush in shame. I know he's telling the truth. Garrett Hawke isn't the type of person to throw others under the bus or take advantage of them. He's so incredibly conscientious that it shames me to think he would be just like my other employers... and a little like me. I feel that burning shame just under my skin as I think of all the people I've stepped on in the name of protecting others. He's too good for Kirkwall, I realize. He's too good for this damn corrupted place and I fit right in.

Hawke would never out me or my brother for any personal gain or feign concern just to hold it over our heads later. He wouldn't. Another flare of heat scorches my conscience and I clench my fists. Sighing, I glance up at the mage, "I'm sorry. Suspicion is a force of habit. I trust you. You're one of those obnoxiously moral people, so I know that I can trust you."

Dark brows knit together. "Obnoxiously moral? Is that what you think of me?"

"Yes," I respond airily, "but that's not much coming from someone like me."

"You do yourself a great disservice when you speak of yourself in such a manner."

A short, harsh laugh leaves me. "A _disservice_? C'mon, now. I'm morally bankrupt, Hawke. Sure, I have enough of a heart to feel guilty when I kill people, but I still do it _for money_. And I've back-stabbed enough people to have a bit of a dark spot on my record, just FYI. My recommendation may have come with high praise, but think about the source."

This pity party of mine is completely unproductive and I know that I need to stop with this bad habit. Because it _is_ a bad habit. What sane person goes around boo-hooing over the past every waking moment? But talking about my past just brings all these negative emotions surging forward- it's why I tried to bury it to begin with. I suck in my bottom lip and am about to sprinkle some sarcasm onto those words when I catch sight of the way Hawke seems to almost be glaring at me. Well, shit. Guess he hates pity parties as much as the next person.

Those golden eyes watch me carefully. "You're one of the most loyal people that I know, Mina. You may be foolhardy at times, but that is only because you do not give up on those you care for. You are one of those rare individuals who would risk life and limb for someone else."

_Well, I_ have _lost a limb once already…_

"Th-Thanks," I murmur and try to hide my face behind my half-empty cup of stale tea.

A kind smile crosses Hawke's face and I feel like I'm on fire. "I should be the one thanking you for remaining in my employ even when you thought me an obnoxiously pious grouch."

_Weird fluttery emotions? Nah, son. I need to turn this around_

Rolling my neck, I smirk. "Well, I'm not _too_ sure about that, really. I know that you always tend to take the moral high road, but I don't know if you're not still some deviant or anything."

"Deviant?"

"Yes. Like some sex-addict or something like that." I bite my tongue to keep from laughing when he accidentally spills some tea from his cup.

His face is red as he chastises me, "Mina."

"What? It's true! I don't know if you bedded all the villagers back in Lothering before you left or if you secretly frequent The Rose and that's why you hate that I go there." I shrug. "As far as I know, you're trying to prey on me."

His cheeks darken and those golden eyes look away. The mage, for once, is robbed of speech. And me? I'm satisfied with my work. I have to admit, it feels good to get back to my usual taunting, teasing self. And it's even more fun to do so with frigid Garrett Hawke whom I don't think would realize anyone was flirting with him unless they were brutally and uncomfortably blunt about it. Like now. It's almost laughable how straight-laced the mage is. I swear, he would've fit in perfectly in the Chantry if he wasn't the least bit magical. Wait. Or not. Considering Templars _love_ The Rose.

"Although I do not appreciate your teasing, I am glad that you are feeling high enough in spirits to do so. Now that you are more at ease, I was wondering..." Garrett's voice hangs in the air along with the unspoken question.

Looking up, I find him staring and I try my damnedest not to blush. " _Wondering?_ "

He seems to steel himself against my taunting smirk but shakes his head. "Never mind. This isn't an appropriate time."

Not an appropriate time? Thinking about his previous proposition, I reply at length, "About before. Y'know, the whole… _courtship_ thing?" I ask casually, like I couldn't care less. I ignore the way his back straightens. "Do you want this to be a serious thing?" I query, forcing myself to sound aloof as I trace the rim of my cup with my forefinger. "Because if you do, well, congratulations. The only reason I went on that stupid job uninvited was to win _you_ over."

"This?" Hawke questions, sounding slightly confused.

Flicking my eyes up, I clarify, " _Us_."

I have to admit, it brings me deep satisfaction to see the pretty pink blush that comes blossoming onto the stoic mage's cheeks. It would appear that I caught him off guard. Hell, I just caught  _myself_ off guard. But if there's some way that I can stay in Kirkwall _and_ keep both my brother and Hawke safe... Well, it's worth a shot, right? Besides, if I can get Kiriyama (hell, even _Carrow_ if he'll stop pretending to kowtow to Kiri's whims regarding what I should and shouldn't know) to grace me with his full knowledge of Summoned affairs, I might stand a chance of giving Mike a good life- a life where he can be around others. And I _do_  really like Hawke… He's a good person and he's good company.

Still, I find myself not wanting to get too far ahead of myself. In an effort to cover my bases for the future, I further explain, "Just to warn you, this is all still tentative, Hawke. I'm on uneven footing right now and don't know how long I'll be in Kirkwall. However, if you're okay with that and if I can manage to make a good life for my brother here, I'd-" Those doleful, golden eyes have me defaulting to crass humor, "really enjoy making you the only person I'll direct my grossly sexual comments towards." I have to fight back a cringe. Dammit! That was supposed to be a serious topic!

" _Mina_ ," Hawke chastises, looking disappointed in my behavior before allowing himself to smile. "To answer your question, yes. Even if you might leave, I- I want a serious relationship with you. I've wanted this ever since you stubbornly swore to tease me outside The Hanged Man."

Ah, hah... Now I'm the one who can't make eye contact. I'm not used to being the shy one in our weird dynamic. I have to remedy this role reversal. "So," I place my cup down and raise my eyebrows, "is this the part where I rip your clothes off and eat candied grapes off of your body? Ah, wait," I tap my chin, " _no_ , that's not practical. They might just roll off of your taut stomach. But I guess that's not too bad, depending on _where_ they roll off to…"

_Dumbass._

"I almost forgot. I was supposed to invite you to supper." Even the mage's neck is a lovely crimson as he stands, downright refusing to make eye contact and pretending he didn't even hear me.

I grin. "Oh! Well, my brother was actually going to cook somethi-" I freeze, the grin sliding from my face.

_Shit!_

My God! I'm a fool! All this tittering about, talking about keeping Mike safe, safe spaces for Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike and the damn kid is _missing_! He was supposed to be here hours ago! He could be dead in the streets, for all I know! My initial instinct is to go find Isabela at The Man or The Rose. Those two places are my best bet. Maybe she took him there? I'm sure she would probably relent if he was insistent enough. Heaven help the pirate if she took my baby brother to the brothel... And heaven help _my brother_ if he strong-armed her into taking him there in the first place. That pushy turd.

"Mina?" Hawke looks alarmed and I realize that I had stood abruptly, accidentally swiping my cup off of the table with my arm and sending it crashing to the floor just like my chair. Well, there's no covering up this mess as me being overly eager to go eat at his house with his lovely mother and wretched, pervy uncle (oh, yes, I've seen how that _man_ looks at Isabela). A nervous smile comes twitching onto my face as I stumble away and scoop up my Lord.

I try to be cool, aloof, and generally _not_ neurotic while I internally freak out. "I'll head over after a bit. I forgot that I need to pick my brother up."

Hawke's brow furrows as he watches me secure Slicer. "From where?"

_Uh…_

"The Rose!" I blurt, speed-walking to the door.

"You're picking your brother up from a brothel?"

"Don't judge," I huff at the incredulity on his face as I wrench open the door, "I don't need you to get all preachy on me again. Thank you for the tea and I trust you can see yourself out."

"Mina, wait." The sternness in his voice glues me in place. I'm standing on the threshold, hand placed firmly on the splintered door-frame, and my back to the tall mage. He could have cast a spell to turn me to ice and I wouldn't be any more rigid than I am now. I don't even need to see his stony face to know that he's frowning. Teeth drag against my bottom lip and I slowly, cautiously turn my head to the side to barely catch a glimpse of him. Yup. He's brooding. That bow-shaped mouth of his is curved into a severe frown and I realize that I have stupidly fallen for those frustrated little looks on his face.

Golden eyes sear my flesh as Hawke comes forward. My heart rate accelerates exponentially. I'm a bit worried by how my chest tightens. "Be careful out there," he murmurs, reaching out his hand. The second he touches my cheek it's like lightning strikes before my eyes. Everything is a blinding white for a split second before I can see again. And when I can see, everything is so crisp and sharp and _pure_. My mind is buzzing, my blood is on fire, I feel like I can't, no, like I _shouldn't_ breathe lest I should explode from this sensory overload.

A deep ache settles in my right hand and I realize I've been holding onto the mage's wrist with a bone-crunching grip. I jerk away, out of his grasp. Heart hammering in my chest, I gawk up at the tall mage. Confused eyes search my face as Garrett Hawke flexes his pained wrist. "Mina?"

Something deep, deep inside pulls me in with a thin string attached to my chest. It cries softly, pleading with me to leave, _now_. Hand throbbing, I watch as the angular lines of the mage's form blur into boring normalcy. Everything fades into an unsatisfying and bleak existence, leaving me hollow and yearning for the clarity. Another string yanks me toward the mage, toward his ability to bring back the beauty. It demands that I take it. It's _mine_ for the taking, isn't it? Yes. _Yes_... But, no. No, it belongs to him. It's _inside_ of him. To get to it, I'd have to- "I need to leave." My voice barely comes out in a rasp as I stumble backward over the threshold and into the humid night.

"Mina, wait." Hawke looks exasperated as he takes a step toward me. "What's wrong?"

_Leave!_

That shrill thought echoes in my head as I go pale. "I need to _leave!_ " I repeat, ignoring the confusion and thinly-veiled hurt in the mage's face as he continues to hold his wrist. And then I'm gone.

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_

Face in my hands, I pace up and down a lonely alley, only stumbling on crooked cobblestones occasionally. Chest quivers as I breathe shakily. I broke out into a cold sweat the second I ran off from Hawke like a spooked cat. I'm in Hightown now. The Hanged Man was without its pirate patron when I had checked. Stuttering out questions, bumping into people and furniture, shaky hands pulling at my cowl almost every ten seconds, I think a few of The Man's patrons must have thought I was some addict going through withdrawal.

Strangely, my hand still aches. It's almost like it aches tauntingly, to serve as a constant reminder of my lapse in… Self-control? A lapse in I don't know what. Do I even want to know? Well, The Rose is just around the corner from where I'm having my mental breakdown. So, that's convenient, at least. I can fall apart, quickly piece myself back together, and then saunter into the brothel in search of my brother. Easy peasy.

_Now, here we go. Let loose._

Just what in the hell was _that_? I'm losing it. I'm really losing it. I was so close to... I don't know what I was close to doing but I know it was something bad. God, that feeling. I'm almost out of the alley in search of Hawke when I stop myself. Fingers dig into the wall as a steady stream of obscenities leaks from my lips. This horribly torn sensation in my chest makes me ache. _Burning_. I clutch and claw at my chest to try and chase away the burning.

The desire to seek out Hawke feels like a terrible burn that's scorched my soul while the annoying, pestering, rational side of me tells me to stay in the alleyway and _stay away_ from the unsuspecting mage. I want to kick that rational side's ass but I also don't want to hurt anyone. Because that's what I'll do if I leave this alley. I'll hurt someone. But… _Why?_ Everything was fine! It couldn't have been a simple touch, right? He'd grabbed my hand and I was fine. But touching my face? I was fine up until- This is because of that weird dream, isn't it? The weird dragon dream...

_What did Carrow say about true potential?_

"You really ought to be more careful. I have a strict curfew set for just this reason."

That familiar, strong yet kind voice drifts into my sad little alley. I recognize it immediately as Aveline and am about to turn tail and run (because I _did_ leave her favorite mage in the Deep Roads, for crying out loud) when I catch sight of a tall, stocky figure walking next to the Guard Captain. The figure is slouched slightly, as if chastened, and Aveline is shooting him curious looks as she offers him a rag which he takes with an appreciative grunt before dabbing at a nick on his pouting lower lip. My heart nearly pops when I see that my brother is beaten and bruised. I'm out of the alley before I can stop myself.

"Mike! There you are!"

The boy jolts and for a second he looks like he wants to run away before saying in an almost emotionless voice, "Before you berate me in front of my new acquaintance, I apologize for staying out past my curfew."

"Screw the curfew! What happened to you?" I reach out and touch the tender looking welt just below his right eye. He flinches and I frown. "Who did this?"

"You don't need to worry," he grunts, dark eyes looking past me and at the red head, "Guard Captain Valen took care of them."

"Them?"

Finally looking over at the older woman, I almost cringe when those green eyes shoot lasers at me as she replies coolly, "Some thugs were trying to mug him as he was coming out of the sewers. He was oddly calm. He didn't have a weapon on his person, so I suppose that was his reasoning for not getting overly excited around the armed criminals." She crosses her arms. "After my fellow guard and I apprehended the muggers, Michael made mention of you, Mina. We were just headed to your home."

I furrow my brow at Mike. "Don't you know your way around?"

His cheeks color against the ugly red welt. "There are more alleys than I remembered…"

"I... don't know what bothers me more," I run my hand over my cowl, "that someone tried to mug you or that you were playing around in the sewers."

"I wasn't playing around!"

"If you two are quite finished bickering, I trust you can make your way home? No one is supposed to be out at this hour." That icy voice nearly chills my blood as I throw the guard a strained grin over my shoulder, thank her for taking care of Mike, and pull my brother after me and down the steps to Lowtown. Holy hell! If I had any doubt in my mind that Aveline could hold a grudge, that little interaction put those doubts six feet under.

It's dead silent as Mike and I make our way down the steps and through the myriad of alleyways. He's probably thinking I'm pissed at him, but I'm brooding over the bizarre feeling I had with Hawke. Everything is blue in this midnight light and as I shoot my brother an anxious glance, I realize it makes his bruises even darker and uglier. My throat tightens and in this moment I want so badly to find the bastards who did this and make them regret ever being born. Even if it means breaking into a prison and beating them up _in there_.

"I'm sorry for not giving you a weapon before." My voice seems louder than normal in the quiet night. "It never crossed my mind that you were unarmed."

"I could have easily killed them."

His response is so flippant that it makes me a bit uneasy. I ask slowly, "Then why didn't you?"

"Because I was controlling my ability."

I don't miss the snark in his tone and I cut my eyes to him. "Still, I should've given you a weapon. Sorry."

"I had a sword before."

"Really? What happened to it?"

"I lost it in the mountains," is his indifferent reply.

_How does someone just lose a sword, of all things?_

I quirk a brow. "Ah, okay? Well," I fumble with my belt and unhook one of my daggers, "take this. It's small but sharp. I keep my weapons in nice shape."

My brother takes it eagerly. "This is a nice blade. Thanks." He gives me a curious look as he pockets the blade. "How did the job go? Did you romance Hawke?"

_Please don't._

"Oh, the job went fine," my shoulders come up indifferently, "I made money."

The corner of his mouth quirks. "And Hawke?"

"That..." I sigh, rubbing my nose at the uncomfortable memory of the mage's hurt face.

My brother gives me an impassive glance. "Did he turn you down?" Mike's voice betrays his anger and his protectiveness manages to get me to smile despite the shit night I've had.

"We're going steady, I think. But there was a _slight_ hiccup."

"Hiccup?" Mike scoffs.

_Nope. Not ready._

"We'll talk about it behind closed doors." I give him a sideways glance. "By the way, before I forget, why were you in the sewers? That's not exactly open to the public, you know."

His eyes cut to me, so dark in the night. "Have you heard of the Black Emporium?"

I can't help but throw my eyebrows up at him. "You were looking for the black market? You know the black market isn't an actual place, right?"

"The Black Emporium _is_ , idiot." Mike glowers, cheeks tinged pink. "It's in the sewer. You know, I'm not surprised that you haven't heard of it. There's no way someone like _you_ would get an invite."

"Yeah, yeah." I wave him off. "I'm not on the market for any new organs, anyway."

We fall into silence as we continue to make our way through gloomy, dilapidated homes and filth. I hesitate in the courtyard, Mike walking by me a few steps before realizing that I stopped. One heavy eyebrow rises in a silent question. Casting a sidelong glance at the Hawke abode, I turn and shoulder the door to my home open and usher Mike in, hand on his back. He goes easily, without fuss, which is a surprise since Mike has always been the type to shrug off a protective or comforting hand.

I should've known something was up from that little interaction alone. At first I think Mike is fine if a little shaken up from his earlier assault, actually allowing me to treat his wounds with salve and health potion. But his eyes don't leave me for a second. I silently agonize over that fact that Hawke cleaned up the shattered earthen cup from the floor and righted my fallen chair, and Mike's eyes are on me. I straighten up the house, count my coin, write out a list of supplies to pick up from the marketplace tomorrow, and his eyes are on me.

Just when I'm about to blow a gasket, he speaks, "What happened?"

I widen my eyes innocently. "What do you mean?"

Those dark eyes narrow, as if insulted. "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? You said there was a 'hiccup' and I want to know what it was."

_Damn. I thought he forgot._

"I think," I sigh as I tap my list, "I may have screwed up my chance with Hawke."

"What? Why?" Mike asks, alarmed. And I'm kinda weirded out by why he's so upset about that. I didn't think my kid brother was so deeply invested in my romantic relationships. Is it really because of the whole video game thing? Then again, I guess he's hoping that if I get invested in a relationship, I won't have as much time to hound him. Ha! As if, kid. I worked two part-time jobs and went to college full-time and _still_ managed to drop in on him from time to time like a deadly coconut.

But right now I'm just delaying the inevitable. Mike won't allow me to brush this under the rug. He's always been persistent like that. Besides, I need _someone_ to talk to about that stunt I just pulled. And who better to talk to than my level-headed brother who has a vast knowledge about this place and the Summoned, in general? At least, he knows more than _me_. Groaning, I rise from my spot at the table and begin to pace. "Hawke... touched me."

_Aaaand you immediately put your foot in your mouth. Good job._

Michael's face goes blank before fury rips across his features. "He _what_?"

"Oh, crap! No! That came out wrong, I'm so sorry!" I give a high-pitched, uneasy laugh at the raw hostility on the boy's cherubic face. "He touched _my face_ and... I don't know. Something happened. I nearly broke his damn wrist! I don't know what the _hell_ happened." I'm raking my fingers through my hair for the millionth time today, probably giving myself a bald spot.

Now it's Mike's turn to be confused. "Why the hell would you do something like that? You're as harmless as a newborn rat and you _like_ him." Mike throws in the teasing, as per his annoying nature.

"Like I said, I don't know. I just had this weird feeling and-" I cut myself off and frown, "I wanted to... take his magic? I think? You know, like what we had talked about before." He nods, expression grave, before producing a quill, ink, and a roll of vellum from beneath Kiri's bed. "Wait. Where'd you get those from?"

"Oh. Isabela took me to the markets in Hightown and got me some stuff I was eyeing." At my pointed look, he confesses, "Okay, so she stole it. Anyway, go on." He raises the quill to the vellum, ready to take notes like he's my shrink or something.

After giving Mike a frustrated look, I continue, " _Anyway_ , that's never happened to me before, Mikey. I've touched mages before- Not like _that_ , don't look at me like that and don't you _dare_ write that down! I've just never felt whatever that was before. I think it has something to do with a dream I had." I throw myself down on my bed, completely exhausted and more than a bit frustrated.

"You mean the dream where you radiated magic?" Carnelian eyes narrow. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"No. Not _that_ one. Similar, yes, but not that one." At his confused look, I clarify, "I had another one when I got home from the job. In the dream, I'm in the mountains somewhere and there's this huge wooden door in the mountain. Well, this most recent time, the door opened and there was a dragon inside."

"A dragon?"

I nod urgently. "Yeah. And it talked to me."

"Talked? A talking dragon?"

At his barely concealed smirk, I bristle. "Yes, _a talking dragon!_ I know it sounds dumb, trust me, but it was scary as shit when I saw it! The first time I dreamed of the door, it was closed and Carrow was there. He said something about unlocking or embracing my true potential or some other hippie garbage, but this second time he wasn't there. Instead, it was some weird dude who talked about slitting his wrists and wanting the dragon to _talk_ to him."

For a while, my brother is silent. The tawny quill brushes against his rounded chin a few thousand times before he's suddenly writing furiously. The scratch, scratch, scratching of the quill against the vellum is all that fills the house for several long minutes, maybe even an hour, before carnelian eyes shoot up to me and turn me into stone just as I yawn exaggeratedly. "You know," Mike starts, brow furrowed seriously, "there are stories that the Old Gods took the form of dragons. It's said that the Old Gods lived in the Golden City, which was their realm and also the seat of the Maker. It was a city in the Fade."

"The Fade?"

My brother rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of-"

"I _have_." I spit, cheeks flushed at my brother's low opinion of me. "It's just… I've been meeting with Carrow in the Fade sometimes when I sleep. But what I saw in my dream? It might've been a demon, kid. I highly doubt an _Old God_ is telling me to come to it in my dreams. I mean, _c'mon_. Who am I to get special attention from some Old Dragon God?"

At my confession, Mike frowns. "Right. Well, I wrote some stuff down for you and brought a book that I stole from Carrow's that might be enlightening for you, since I doubt the blond weirdo will be able to adequately answer any questions that you have. I left them upstairs."

My eyebrows shoot up instinctively. "You _stole_ from Carrow?"

"I may have asked Steven to borrow a few books for me when I was at Carrow's," my brother drawls, "and I may have _forgotten_ to have him return-"

A short, rapping knock on the door causes us both to freeze like deer caught in headlights. With flailing arm movements, I manage to gesture to the boy to make his way up the stairs. He squints at me for a moment, like I'm absolutely insane, before shrugging and making his way up the stairs much slower than I'd like. Resisting the urge to throw my boot at him for every second he drags his ascension out, I finally breathe when he slowly, painstakingly closes the door to Bartlett's studio. Another polite knock has me hastening to the door. I open the door a crack and sigh in relief when it's not one of the mages. But that relief doesn't last all that long.

For a moment I wonder if I'm dreaming again. I would _have_ to be if I'm seeing _this_ man. His hair is long and unruly, jet black. His large eyes glisten with mischief, which I find far more disturbing than the lost, frenzied look he had the last time I saw him in my dream. His lips spread easily into a charming smile just below that long nose of his, revealing a line of surprisingly white teeth. Though his posture is relaxed and almost aloof, I can see the tension in his dark, shifty eyes. "Oh! Heh, hello. Didn't mean to interrupt your pleasant evenin'." The stranger turns his head slightly as he talks over his shoulder, wild dark eyes never leaving me, "I take it this is your lady love, Stevie?"

My mouth goes dry. "Stevie?"

After all this time, he's back? I already knew his search for my brother was unsuccessful, obviously, but I had hoped he would come by and find me _earlier_. I was hoping to bank off of his clearly superior knowledge about Summoned from his time with Carrow to help me figure out what's going on with my brother. But he sure took his sweet time, rubbing elbows with our blond torturer and cavorting about with this… _person_. I'll admit I'm a bit pissed. Just a bit. Because he clearly felt that he had the time to play carpool while I've been floundering to figure out what to do about Mike.

"Ah, yeah," the stranger drawls, hooking his thumb into his heavy belt, "the man goes by Kiriyama, actually. It's too much of a mouthful for me, so I call him Stevie. Says he knows you. You _are_ Mina, right? Did I get the wrong house?"

"You didn't," a deep, smooth voice speaks up from behind the small man and I nearly wrench the door off of its hinges as I fling it open wider. Those mossy, golden-flecked eyes stare at me unwaveringly. A dark eyebrow arches at my wide-eyed stare.

The stranger looks relieved. "Oh, good!"

"What the _hell_ took you so long?" I demand angrily. Confusingly enough, I'm caught between relief and anger. Guess which is winning at the moment? "Weren't you trying to find 'the boy?' The last I heard from Carrow, you were with him after trying to find _my brother_. I really could've used your sage Summoned advice! Or the least you could've done was left me with a damn handbook after helping bring Michael here!"

My voice is probably too loud because it causes the strange man's eyebrows to slowly inch up his forehead as he puckers his lips and glances between me and the serpent man. This is probably just some daytime soap opera for the dream-lurker and I have to admit that he's standing in quite possibly the worst spot because I don't know how much longer I can keep myself from yanking off my boot and throwing it at the pretty bastard that stands behind him. What makes matters worse is that Kiriyama doesn't respond. In fact, he just looks away guiltily.

_God, don't pull that kicked puppy face..._

Seeming to catch on to the tension, the unnamed man coughs uncomfortably into his elbow before saying something that makes me freeze. "Well, we're here for the boy."

"What?" I hiss, shooting my hand out to clench on the doorframe, blocking the two from entering with my arm. "What's going on here?" I look to the serpent but he's still looking away. "Why are you trying to take Mike away? I mean..." Now I'm the uncomfortable one because that's a foolish question. "I _know_ why. But where are you going to take him?"

Hazel eyes fly up and narrow at me. "Away."

Okay... Okay, look. I've done one hell of a job being the smiling fool while everyone dances around playing coy. At this point, Kiriyama couldn't be more evasive and infuriating if he _tried_. It was bad enough when he dropped in out of nowhere after leaving me high and dry for a year only to info-dump on me and then refuse a Q &A. Now he isn't even being subtle with his evasiveness. He actually has the gall to look me in the eye.

"Away," I parrot, mimicking his flat tone. My hand begins to ache with how hard I grip the doorframe. "Has anyone ever told you that you're obnoxious? This coquettish response to a genuine question isn't funny, Steven. We aren't talking about me giving away a foster dog. We're talking about you and this," I gesture vaguely toward the stranger with my free hand, " _person_ taking _my brother_ away to parts unknown. Now, I'm not fool enough to believe that there isn't a real issue with Michael and if there's a chance that you can help, I'm open to that. However, at least respect me enough as a person to tell me what your intentions are."

Dark, empty eyes stare at me blankly before a sugary smile graces the stranger's face and he shoots out a hand before Kiriyama can even think to respond to my rebuke. "This _person_ is Julian. It's a pleasure to meet ya, Mina. I've heard nothin' but good things about ya!"

A tension headache is in my future. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I smile tightly and give the man's hand a firm shake. "Hey, Julian. Nice name, by the way."

"Oh? Flattering me, eh?" He doesn't let go of my hand. In fact, his grips tightens to the point that it's almost painful.

My eye twitches. "That was my father's name, actually. I've always liked-"

"Carrow."

Any pretense of polite conversation is dropped with Kiriyama's blunt statement. Oh, but it's not a _statement_. He's _answering_ my question. They're here to take my brother back to Carrow. That one word hangs in the midnight air between us and for a moment I marvel over the fact that I was stupid enough to hope that Steven Kiriyama would be the answer to my prayers. Like a complete moron, I'd counted on him to help me with Michael. But cut me some slack. Why would I _ever_ think that he'd go back to embracing the blood mage who tormented us?

My face must be eerily blank, because Julian shifts uncomfortably on my doorstep and Kiriyama doesn't even seem to breathe. They stand outside, looking like ghosts. Truly, I don't know what I should be emoting. Anger seems like a fine prospect but I have a strange teen just upstairs to consider. Obviously I take far too long to react for Julian's liking, because suddenly the wiry man is shoving his way into my home like he intends to burgle the joint.

Stumbling back from the impact of a surprisingly solid body against me, the door is slammed shut and I find myself in my Lowtown home with a stranger and a man whom I wish had _stayed_ a stranger. The stink of body odor and filth consumes and gags me, Julian all over me in a tangle of limbs as he tries to get further into the house, presumably to find my brother. Shock gives way to fury and I'm forcefully shoving him away from me and into Kiriyama, who catches him by his narrow shoulders. When Julian makes to get out of the serpent's grasp and lunge for me, Kiri grips him hard and I rear back to deck, well, _either one of them_ is a pretty damn good option right now.

"Enough!" Kiriyama's strong voice resonates within the small room and somehow the room feels even smaller after my ears stop ringing with that shout. Reluctantly, I drop my fist. For a moment, I fear Mike might come barreling down the stairs, but the all-encompassing silence quells that fear. Julian's chest rises and falls shakily as he seems to attempt to calm himself, the muscles in his jaw jerking as he clenches his teeth and flexes his hands. The serpent man watches me closely, eyes swirling with trepidation. "I'm sorry," he finally says, "but... This is the only way, Mina. Michael needs to be isolated. He can't be in a city like this. You _know_ that."

"Yeah," Julian pipes up, seemingly forgetting how he was looking at me like he wanted to rip my spine out just moments ago. Casual as can be, he shrugs Kiriyama's hands off of him. "The kid has gotta go, uh, _kid_... Kiddo?" 

"I'm not letting either one of you take him back to that lunatic," I spit.

One look at my aggravated face and Kiriyama steps in front of Julian like object permanence is a skill that neither I nor Julian have developed. He must think that we're mere seconds from attempting to trade blows again and he isn't wrong. Julian attempts to get up on his toes to peer at me from over Kiri's shoulder since Steven Kiriyama is much, much taller than the pint-sized brunet. The serpent closes his eyes and sighs, "We need to talk, Mina."

"Yeah," I drawl, trying to remain cool as a cucumber. I gesture stiffly toward the table, urging him to sit. "Apparently we do."

Like we're all trained actors on a stage, we all move quickly to our respective places. Julian, for some reason, goes to the fireplace and begins setting a kettle to boil water for tea like he lives here. Hazel eyes search my face when Kiri sits across from me. After a moment, the serpent explains, "About Michael, your brother... I know I'm beyond forgiveness. Back when I last saw you, I told you that I had aided in a summoning out of curiosity about our origins. I didn't expect _him_ to be summoned. I'm sorry."

The whole time that he's been speaking, I've been gripping my knees in a death-grip. I've already accepted the crappy situation we're all in, yeah. That doesn't mean I'm totally letting bygones be bygones, though. Watching the man, I reply stiffly, "I acknowledge your apology. It's not like you did it with malicious intent. It'd be like you being pissed at me for accidentally forgetting to replenish the health potions you keep in your trunk."

"You what?"

"Bygones?"

He narrows his eyes, expression grim. "About Julian-"

"Stevie? Tea?" Julian interrupts, as if on cue.

Kiriyama slowly closes his eyes. "No, thanks."

"You sure?"

" _Yes_." Kiriyama's lips are pressed into a thin, hard line.

"Ah, suit yourself, kid."

When the serpent looks back at me, I snort, "Okay, your new pet is cute and all, but what in the world is _wrong_ with him?"

"That's what I was getting at," he sighs. "Julian is the Palm, the last of the Summoned. And he's… quirky, to put it mildly."

_Pause!_

Palm? He said, Palm, right? The last of the Summoned. I'm yanked back to the Frostback Mountains, to Mike droning on and on about Summoned and Kiriyama being able to exert some influence over me and the _other_ Summoned being able to do the same to Mike. I suck my teeth and hasten to say, the second it looks like Kiriyama is about to carry on talking like nothing, "Wait, wait, wait. Mike mentioned this to me before. Did you and Carrow summon Julian? Is that what you were away doing? Is that how you think you're gonna solve this whole issue with Mike's... strangeness?" God, I'm already tired of how I keep pausing dramatically over that.

"No," Kiri responds promptly, looking aggravated. "Julian is the byproduct of a botched mage-Summoned bonding. His summoners had tried to take his essence, like Carrow did to us, and accidentally severed his link to whatever creature or spirit we get our magic from." He takes a breath. It's a bad breath. It's one of those deep ones that people do, followed by a glance away, when they have bad news. "I took him to Carrow, the only blood mage I know, to see if he could do anything about it and..."

_Everyone sure loves dramatic pauses._

I throw my hands up. " _And_? C'mon, spit it out already, for crying out loud!"

Kiriyama gives me a humorless smile. "Carrow is now the proud owner of an entire set of Summoned. In terms of Ancient Tevinter society, Lord Dermot Carrow IV would now be at the apex of political influence since he has unfathomable power at his fingertips. I suppose it's a good thing his only desire is to destroy the Circle of Magi in Ferelden and not something more ambitious."

Pinching my brow, I sigh, "What does that even _mean_ and what does this have to do with my brother? If it has nothing to do with helping Mike, then I honestly couldn't give a damn if Carrow summoned six more Summoned and formed a big band."

"What?"

I fix Kiri with a bored look. "Don't act so surprised or superior, Steven. You're here for Michael and you obviously think that taking him back to Carrow is a _good idea_." I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. "Sell that to me. Tell me why _that's_ a good idea and not the biggest mistake in the world."

Julian's head snaps in my direction and he quickly saunters over to ruffle my hair like an annoying uncle. "Bonding, kiddo."

Waving a hand to silence the Palm, Kiriyama fixes me with a hard look. "It's not what you think. We aren't going to do to him what Carrow did to us. There's apparently a passive fail-safe, if you will, that's sort of built into us. The thing that I am can negate your power and what Julian is can negate Michael's. If we keep Julian around Michael long enough, Michael will find it easier to control his outbursts. Just like how you didn't compel so many people when I was around." At that, Steven gives me an almost accusatory look that I actively choose to ignore.

Why does it seem like _everyone_ knows when I'm compelling people? Oh, who the shit _cares_? What Steven just told me is wonderful news! It's great! My baby brother can live a semi-normal life and all it will take is having some dark-haired, bug-eyed weirdo hanging around like a relative who stopped by to stay over for the holidays without asking first. Everything's falling into place. Things are _finally_ looking up. I can't keep the broad grin off of my face as I laugh, "Awesome! So, why don't y'all stay here, then? It doesn't even sound like Carrow is necessary."

A beat of silence passes. Steven Kiriyama looks away and Julian clears his throat. Kiriyama looks me dead in the eyes and answers slowly, "We need to take him away, Mina. Bonding takes a long time and in that time he might do something… regrettable. Mina, he's danger-"

_As if I don't know!_

"I've heard all of this before, you know." I cut him off. "Do you _honestly_ think I'm going to let you take my brother back to that psychopath? Have you forgotten what he did to us? Because I sure as hell _haven't_! Michael was lucky to have got away when he did. What makes you think that Carrow won't rip out his essence the second you take him back there?"

No one bothers to answer my question. It's almost like they don't care about what happens to him, as long as Mike is at Carrow's estate. Why is that? Why does it have to be _there_ , of all places? Thanks to the Blight, there isn't a shortage of abandoned homes in Ferelden that can be used for this passive bonding bullshit Summoned nonsense. Almost comically, Julian sets a cup of tea before me like I didn't just ask a valid question.

When the silence on their end continues to drag on with no answer to my question in sight, I stand and point toward the door. "I want you two to leave. Now."

Something flashes in Julian's eyes. He looks down that long, long nose at me and sneers, "Leave? Leave. No, I don't think so. Ya see, we're doing you a _favor_ here, kid. It's either take your brother to Dermot's secluded little mansion or let him kill you right here, right now. That brother of yours is dangerous and you're a damn fool if you think he won't kill you the second you make one wrong move."

"Has everyone lost their damned mind?!" At this point, I'm gesturing around wildly, as if addressing an audience and not two men. "Why is my hesitance, my _reluctance_ , so hard for you people to understand? You aren't taking Michael to a daycare! You're taking him to a remorseless killer who thinks torture is fun!"

"Calm down now, little lady." A cold hand forces me to sit back down and I want to rip the damn thing off of Julian and slap him with it. "We need to talk this through 'cause I like ya, kid. Give you and your brother some time to say your goodbyes and all that. We ain't all that bad, Mina."

Throughout this exchange, Kiriyama is dead silent. Well, I'm glad he knows better because if he were to try and talk to me right now I'd probably throw my tea in his face. Looking at the steam that rises from the cup, I wince. Okay, so I wouldn't throw _hot_ tea in his face. I'd have to wait a few minutes before I got to act like a drama queen (and oh how tempting it is). Teeth worry my bottom lip. I need to be reasonable. If I lash out, Kiriyama can take Mike away whether I like it or not. He can _teleport!_ I decide to plead my case.

Looking up into Kiri's hazel eyes, I try to look sad and pitiable. "Look, _anywhere else_ is fine. The mountains, the Deep Roads, a damn _graveyard_. Any other secluded place that doesn't have Carrow lurking about is fine by me because I _do_ understand that my brother is volatile. I'll let you take Michael wherever and I'll go with you. Just, please, don't take my brother to that lunatic. You _know_ nothing good can come of it."

My stomach sinks when Kiriyama shakes his head. Well, the guy definitely isn't a sucker for my puppy eyes. "It _has_ to be Carrow's estate."

Anger flares in my gut, making it twist into a million uncomfortable knots. Yet again, there's something that I'm not being told. I'm being kept out of the loop and now it's my brother's safety- the safety of a boy whom I practically raised like my own son- that's being danced around. Jaw twitches with how hard I clench my teeth. Hands fisted on my lap, I stare into Kiriyama's haunting eyes and hiss, "I don't understand. _Make me_ understand. _Why_ does it have to be Carrow's estate? _Why_ do you need Michael to be near that monster? Answer me!"

"Are you trying to compel me right now?" Kiriyama puzzles, looking genuinely confused if a bit alarmed.

_That_ pulls me out of my haze of fury. "What? I- No?" I reel back, alarmed. But even as I deny it, there's a faint buzzing on my brain, a tightening of some little ball in the back of my head. As I pull back further, an invisible coil snaps and my eyes widen. Oh my God. I was just trying to compel this guy right now! What the hell has gotten into me? My cheeks heat up under the collective gaze of Kiriyama and Julian. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"Stop... Stop talking…" It comes from the stairs, that hollow voice. We all freeze at the sound of it. It's so foreign, so bizarre. It makes my flesh break out in goosebumps once more.

Turning my head slowly, I see my brother on the staircase, leaning heavily against the wall as if he's about to collapse. As I stand and attempt to go to him, Kiriyama suddenly lashes out and grabs my arm in a vise-like grip, earning a pained grunt from me. Wrong move. I hadn't noticed it before, but my baby brother's skin has taken on a strange, ashy hue like he's been dead for a long, long time. His hair is darker, almost black, his eyes are darker- everything about him screams danger. I remember him like this. Out in the mountains. I remember this. And I remember what comes next.

He comes down the stairs so fast that no one even has a chance to react. I regret giving him the dagger. I wish I hadn't done that. Silver glints, flashes, and a scream is lodged in my throat as Kiriyama grunts in pain. I'm released as the serpent man reels back and I only have a second to glance back and see him pulling the dagger out of his shoulder when Julian's profuse and colorful swearing brings my attention back onto the raging boy before me.

I shouldn't have looked away in the first place. I really shouldn't have. Michael's hand shoots out like lightning to grab my arm. He jerks me toward him with tremendous strength. The distinct pop of my shoulder dislocating reaches my ears just as the fireworks explode before my eyes. I scream in agony but a sharp pain that spears through the back of my head causes my teeth to snap together. The pain is clarifying, I can finally see.

I'm on the ground, crumpled up like a salted slug, with Julian standing defensively in front of me. All I can see is his back and a strange green blade in his hands that I'm sure he didn't have when he came here. In front of the small man, my brother, comically large in comparison, tries to charge him. Julian brandishes the blade like a camper trying to frighten a bear with fire. Mike's teeth gnash.

With a jolt to my heart, I realize that my one and only brother is still trying to get at _me_ , like some rabid beast denied its prey. He wants to hurt me. I think... I think he wants to _kill_ me. I fight the thought away just in time to notice the serpent. Kiriyama has circled around my brother and approaches him slowly from behind, he gives Julian a curt nod.

_No!_

"Don't!" I barely manage to shout, throat feeling like it's slowly freezing over. Mossy eyes fixate on me. My attempt to get up is met with cruel electricity ripping through my skin. The pain blinds me once more. I almost give in, almost pass out. But I hear a shout, an anguished cry, and a gust of icy wind prompts me to open my tired eyes once more. I'm alone, slouched against the wall right next to the front door. They're gone. _Gone_.

There's blood on the floor- Kiriyama's blood- and here I lay like a broken doll, propped up against the wall that Julian shoved me toward in a last ditch effort to free me from my brother's unyielding grasp. I can't move a muscle for fear of the pain. The little shocks wear away at my resolve, drawing every last ounce of my energy until I lose consciousness.


	37. Not a Thing Like Jesus

**28\. Not a Thing Like Jesus**

I already know that this is a dream. I know this is a dream but I want to keep dreaming for as long as I can, for as long as I can keep this precious little boy in my arms. My fingers thread through thick brown curls of hair, tugging at the messy little knots. The chubby-cheeked boy on my lap nods off to sleep as I softly hum a tune. His head falls against my chest, dusky lashes brushing against red cheeks, a bit of drool dribbling from his lips. I chuckle and big, dark, reddish-brown eyes open. Pale brow puckers into a frown.

"Sorry, Mikey. Go back to sleep." I smile against another laugh, stroking his hair. He still frowns up at me, the petulant child, but slowly his eyes glaze over and he falls asleep. It's terribly cold out but my brother doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the chill in the air. How can he when he isn't real? I swallow hard. Lifting my gaze from the little boy, I take in our surroundings... or lack thereof. My heart catches in my throat when I realize there's nothing but darkness, the only faint light coming from up above. Clutching the toddler's head to my chest, I slowly lean back until I can clearly see the opening that has to be nearly eighty meters up, the light illuminating a bit of ancient architecture but leaving everything else a void.

Suddenly, there's a flicker of something in the opening and it comes fluttering down, down, down; spiraling and dancing on the cold air. With a furrowed brow, I reach up and swipe it from the air just as it flutters within reach. It's a folded up piece of parchment. It's old and crackles against my fingers like it might fall to pieces at any moment. Shifting Mike in my arms, I unfold the parchment and blink in confusion. Written in tight, oddly familiar letters is "Billy." Before I can examine the vague message further, the parchment blows away like dust.

With a shiver, I return my gaze to the empty blackness ahead. Heart thuds, the only sound save for Mike's steady and heavy breathing. Everything else is dead silent, not a single ambient noise, not a peep to indicate where we are. The air is icy and thick here, wherever _here_ is. With that thought in mind, I think of the mountain dream with the door. It was open last time. It was open and I was at the threshold, barely hanging onto the frame.

Fear squeezes my heart painfully when I realize that I must be _beyond_ the door now. And if I'm beyond the door, that must mean that that _thing_ is here, too. As a reflex, my grip on my brother tightens. His even breath is all I hear for an eternity and I begin to harden myself against the fear just before a sudden voice shatters my resolve.

" _Your summoner is greedy_ ," the voice says simply.

My heart strains against my chest at that deep, deep, reverberating voice that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere to shake me to my core. I can't speak. Fear has me tightening my grip almost painfully on Michael as those plainly spoken words hang in the air. There's nothing amazing or awe-inspiring about that sentence. It's just some fact that I've known for a very long time. Dermot Carrow IV is a greedy mage. He's power hungry and lost himself a long, long time ago with his insane desire to wipe out the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. _Just that one Circle_. Nothing too ambitious for the willowy blond. But that one wish drove him mad long before I met him and yet I could see the crazy in his eyes as plain as day. But how would this _whatever_ know?

_Unless it's an Old God like Mike said?_

No. That's stupid. Even demons are seemingly omniscient, and Carrow has struck many a deal with many a demon. Licking my lips, I finally manage a whisper for clarification, "You mean Carrow, right?"

" _Hmm..._ " The voice seems to mull over my words before sighing, " _Yes_."

I clear my throat to steel my nerves before asking, "How do you know he's greedy?" I freeze, the image of a charming smile and two impossibly dark eyes flashes in my mind, leaving me feeling hollow. "Did you just-?" My mind races as I gawk at nothing, "You put that in my head! Julian-" I try to swallow my confusion. "Why did you show me Julian? I-Is it because Carrow duped him or whatever? That's why you say he's greedy? You mean he's power hungry?"

" _Power_?" The voice seems to chuckle, judging by the sudden grating sound. " _The Summoned are no gift of power, Eye._ "

Why does everyone keep saying that like it makes sense? Like it's a complete, rational statement? The Summoned are no gift of power, yeah, okay. And? I've already been told that the thing that I am used to be used to advance the stations of old fogies in Tevinter once upon a time. So to say that Summoned aren't for power just doesn't make a lick of sense. It makes about as much sense as saying microwave ovens aren't for heating up tea. Sure, it's gross to heat your tea in a microwave but that doesn't mean that heating tea is totally not a function of a microwave. Us Summoned are allegedly powerful therefore we're used for power. That may or may not be our sole purpose, but it's a function.

_Time to start making sense, you weird, disembodied voice._

"Then what are we? _Who_ are you?"

" _I am you. I am all: Eternity. Truth. Liberation._ "

I can't help the incredulous look that scrunches up my face. "Uh, what?"

" _I am your creator._ "

_I think my brain just short-circuited._

"My... But I have a, well, a _maker_ , if you will. Carrow is my maker but you're saying that _you_ made me?" Fingers stray from my brother's hair to rub at my cheek uncomfortably. "Does that mean you're God? Or, well, are you _a_ god, at least?"

Silence. Shit. The silence nearly makes me scream. This silence doesn't _deny_ that this thing, that this creature in my dreams, is a god- perhaps an _Old God_. Silence is never a good thing. Silence means something bad is coming. Teeth drag against my bottom lip as I stare at a fixed point in the void. "But you look like a dragon!" A grimace tugs at my lips at the thought of getting sassy with a dragon. "Well, when I last saw you. I mean, I can't see a thing _now_... But anyway, from the scripture that plagued my childhood, I don't recall Jesus being a dragon. Trust me, if Jesus _had_ been a dragon, my eight-year-old self would've paid _way_ more attention in Sunday school."

" _I am not a dragon._ "

But the creature doesn't deny the other bit. Oh, hell… Almost like I fear that being struck down might be a real possibility, I wince and ask, "Jesus?"

A grating chuckle. " _Simple child, I am not a petty god from your realm._ "

_Oh. Well, now I feel like the world's biggest asshat._

A condescending laugh escapes me as I barely suppress a scoff at that insult, "Okay? I can see that now, as I'm sure my God wouldn't call my home a realm or laugh about it since he took that place pretty damn seriously. So, tell me, really: Who are you? Because I refuse to believe that _you_ are a god. If you were really a god, then why haunt _my_ dreams?"

Everything goes completely cold, colder than I've ever felt before. And the cold brings a strange feeling of hopelessness with it. The chill makes my bones ache and with a twist of my stomach I realize that Mike is gone, leaving me to clutch at nothing. I'm on my feet in the blink of an eye but the darkness is everywhere and he's nowhere. What am I supposed to do? It's not like I can go chasing shadows in a room full of them.

From the start I knew it wasn't Mike. This is a _dream_. Mike is long gone because- because _I_ couldn't control myself. All this time I had worried about him being able to control himself and I should've been keeping myself in line. Because my dumbass tried to compel Julian, _I_ triggered one of Mike's episodes. I'm the reason he was taken away back to _Carrow_. Bitterness bleeds into me, sours my mood; it makes me think even less of myself. I didn't think that was possible.

" _Remind the summoner,_ " the dream dragon suddenly says, mercifully ripping me from my damning thoughts.

I frown, breath coming out in a puff of steam as the cold intensifies. "Wh-What?" My teeth chatter as I hold myself tight against the unyielding cold that won't relent. Those poisonous thoughts are just as unrelenting and I realize this demon is what's making me feel so terrible. "Remind him of _what_?" I spit, immediately angered by the demon's attempt at manipulating me through awful, degrading thoughts.

" _Remind him that you belong to me_."

* * *

Cold, bony knuckles graze over my cheekbone. The sudden, icy contact against my heated flesh makes me jerk away. Regret floods my system just as earnestly as the pain in my head. Eyes manage to flutter open despite the burning desire to remain closed and ignorant. A gaunt face hovers over mine, worry etched into those hauntingly elegant features. Pale blue eyes watch me critically and when the noble realizes that I'm awake, he leans back.

It's a chore to follow him with my eyes since he's nearly out of sight, kneeling to my left while my head is lolled to the right and unable to move. Why do I feel so weak? My initial attempt to rise is thwarted by fatigue and then the pain spreads, blossoming from my head and down my neck, spreading like wildfire through my nerves. A pathetic whimper of pain leaves me.

"Shh," the mage murmurs as he strokes my cheek, "everything will be all right, dearest. I will send someone for you."

I don't know how I do it, but like lightning I lash out and slap him hard across his face. He doesn't even flinch and I have barely enough time to register that I've _touched_ him when that vicious electric pain stiffens my joints and I seize up once more with a shout. My mind is a jumbled mess of agonized screams and damning curses. How the hell did I end up in this state? Mike couldn't have possibly... Oh, but he _could have_ possibly done this to me.

Kiriyama's warnings about "the boy," the soul-sucking boy, echo bitterly in my mind and if I could sneer, I would. God, I hate that I proved him and Julian right. I would also flinch if I could when Carrow's thin hand slowly reaches up to his reddening cheek. My mouth feels rather dry as I await his next move. Stupid of me to slap the man who controls me. Really, _really_ stupid. But he had it coming. Icy eyes stare through me for a lifetime until I blink and he's no longer there.

_Dammit. What have I done? But honestly, he took that slap like a damn champ._

I'm all alone for an hour before I hear a gruff voice balk, "Maker, is that blood?"

"Hush, Gamlen. Wilhelmina was supposed to stop by earlier and she didn't... and the door is _unlocked_. This isn't right."

"Yes and I believe you, which is why I still say that we _shouldn't_ involve ourselves in that smuggler girl's affairs! You know her sort, Leandra. Why you insist on pushing your boy into her arms is beyond me. I always told you nothing but trouble would come from being friendly with her lot."

"Shh!"

Oh, this is just _wonderful_. Leandra Hawke, mother of the man I just recently manhandled and blew off, is here. Hopefully her pretty son hasn't got to her yet. Hopefully she doesn't actually find me and is instead scared off by the wreckage that is now my home. Damn. Now that I look, straining my eyes, it looks like an ogre tore the place apart. When the heck did that happen? Did looters come by when I was K.O.'d or something? From what I remember, us Summoned folk didn't thrash around _that_ badly.

Two long shadows are cast from the doorway as the siblings hesitate at the threshold. A creak and a grating whine alerts me to the fact that the door is being pushed in further just as the sturdy wood connects with my thigh and sends electric shocks pulsing through my system. Jaw clenched, I endure the ultimate humiliation as whoever is trying to push the door insists on slamming it into my leg a couple of times before realizing that, yes, there _is_ something blocking the door from opening fully.

Some hushed declaration of shock later, Mama Hawke is kneeling before me with those wide blue eyes and Gamlen grimaces behind her, keeping his distance. Smart man. "Wilhelmina! Are you all right? What happened?" Leandra gasps.

To my surprise, I'm actually able to grind out a barely audible and totally unconvincing, "I'm fine."

Those blue eyes narrow dangerously and I'd cringe if I could. "Who did this to you?"

Well, I know if I answer the way I want to (by saying "no one" or that I "fell dramatically," hence the mess) Mama Hawke might just rip me a new one, judging by that intense, soul-withering glare that her eldest inherited. Inhaling quickly through my nostrils, so fast that the air actually burns my nose, I fix the matriarch with my most stubborn frown. At least, I think I'm frowning. Can't really tell, what with being semi-paralyzed and all.

However, what I do know is that I'd rather face Leandra Hawke's devil glare than admit that my own brother is the one who put me in this rather shitty situation. Gosh, I've always covered for that little heathen. Even when he killed our mom's expensive fish by dropping a toilet freshener in the aquarium during one of her dull dinner parties. Mike had begged to have me over after that and tried to "hire" me to kill her new fish like I was a contract killer for boring, pricey pets that he didn't want to have to maintain.

_Enough about fish! You need to find a sneaky way out of this tricky spot._

"Smugglers usually have rivals, Leandra," Gamlen states bluntly, like his explanation is the end all to end all.

The noblewoman's delicate brow furrows as she glances over her shoulder before giving me a concerned look. "Was it rivals, Wilhelmina?"

_Never thought Gamlen would be the one to give me an out!_

"Ye-Yes," I grunt.

"Oh, my dear," she sighs, all disappointment and maternal chastisement as she reaches to grab my shoulder.

"Excuse me? Yes, hello!"

That sickeningly saccharine voice makes me wish rolling my eyes didn't make me feel so dizzy. He said he'd send someone for me, I just didn't think the psycho mage would send weirdo _Julian_. Son of a freakin' fudgsicle! Oh, this is just turning out to be one of those marvelous days where the universe laughs in my face. I want to laugh along with it when a head full of messy black hair pops into my line of sight and Julian sneakily manages to keep Leandra from touching me by grabbing her hand and laying a big ol' kiss on the back of it.

"Good evenin'!" Dark brown eyes glitter as the man offers her a charming smile. "I'm Julian, a comrade of Mina's. I heard that there had been an attack here and I came as quickly as I could to make sure Mina was okay." A pitiful frown pulls at his lips as he makes his eyes all big and shiny. "Unfortunately, I see I came too late to give those bastards what for. But I'm here now and I intend to take my friend to a healer."

Leandra carefully pulls her hand from the lunatic's grasp and gives me an unreadable look. "Is this true? Is this man a friend of yours, Wilhelmina?"

I don't know what the hell this guy is trying to do, but I _do_ actually owe him one for keeping my brother from killing me, so I slowly rearrange my ugly glare into a strained smile and rasp, "Yes."

"See? It's all sorted out!" Gamlen is quick to say as he retreats for the door, "So, we really ought to get back. Hope you feel better soon, Mina. Have a nice day."

Looking rather torn, Mama Hawke nods firmly before standing and giving Julian a hard look. "You make sure to take care of her, Julian. If anything happens, if I don't hear from her again, I'll be sure to inform my son of your involvement."

_Wow. What a threat…_

Still with that obviously fake smile, Julian says in a sympathetic voice, "Of course, my lady."

As the woman leaves my line of sight, I can practically feel Julian's dark gaze on me. After a moment of silence, he kicks the door closed and crouches in front of me with a sigh, "What a mess. A damn mess. A damn _shame_." He looks bored, that pouty mouth pulled slightly at the corners into a neutral frown, dark brow crinkled just a bit to show his indifference before he suddenly pulls my arm straight out, bends it, and rotates it up with a hollow pop.

The sudden explosion of white hot pain that follows renders me mute and I'd throw up if it weren't for the burst of almost overwhelming relief that wracks my body shortly after. I exhale a shaky breath, body soaked with sweat. Damn. I'd almost forgotten that my brother had dislocated my shoulder. Good thing I didn't try to slap Carrow with _that_ one. "Thanks," I murmur begrudgingly as I roll my arm and freeze. What the hell?

An amused smile greets me when I slowly look up to meet Julian's eyes, all embarrassingly slack-jawed and idiotic looking the whole time. In a flurry of clumsy limbs, I sit upright, legs crossed. I'll say it again: What. The. Hell. How am I able to move? Not even a minute ago I was paralyzed against the wall, barely grunting out responses like some movie monster and now I'm totally fine. Well, not totally fine since my arm still aches and my head is killing me from when I was carelessly thrown back against the wall. But other than those minor aches and pains, I'm _fine_.

_Something definitely isn't right about this dark-eyed weirdo._

"How did you do that?" I ask, finally wiping that dopey look off of my face, "Are you a healer?"

"Not at all, _Wilhelmina_ ," he taunts, rolling back on his heels before hopping up and beginning to straighten out the place. "Just 'cause someone made you right again, doesn't make them a healer. Sometimes people do things that don't befit them. Besides, I wasn't the one who did it," he shrugs, snapping out a few blankets before making the beds.

 _And just what the heck is_ that _supposed to mean?_

Through narrowed eyes I watch him slowly return the place to normal. All the while he shoots me grins and generally makes a show of putting things back in their rightful place, like I should be so amazed that he creepily knows exactly where everything belongs. Chewing my lip, I finally stand when he sets a couple of miraculously unbroken cups on the table.

Despite the fact that he saved me and Kiriyama hangs around with him (not like Kiri's attention is a good litmus test for trustworthiness), I need to know what this man's intentions are. Carrow sent him for me, yes, so does that mean that he's going to be taking me to Carrow and my brother? Just the thought of seeing my brother again makes me anxious. I almost hate myself for how uneasy the thought makes me. I smother the feeling with questions.

"How did you do that, then?"

"Hm?"

"How did you heal me?" I bite out, "Was it Carrow? Did _he_ do it?"

The laugh Julian barks out makes me blush and feel like a simpleton. But it was an honest question! I remember when I first arrived in this world, when Kiri and I were out on the lam, Carrow had channeled his magic through me to rejuvenate Kiriyama. It had stung like hell but it had served its purpose. I can only assume that that's what happened now since I was never on the receiving end of it (aside from Carrow healing my busted up face). However, the amused look on Julian's face combined with the laugh that still rings rather painfully in my ears says otherwise.

"You think he can do that?" The short man immediately backpedals when he sees my face twist in irritation, "Don't get me wrong, oh no, no! I understand the allure of having a summoner: you  _ooh_ and _ahh_ over their ability to manipulate the world around them and you think they're the Alpha and the Omega," his face darkens, "but they're not- _he's_ not."

I'm more than just a bit disgusted that he thinks I hold Carrow in such high regard, like some silly fan, as I spit, "I know that."

Dark eyes like bitter chocolate look right through me. "Do you?"

Pressing my fingertips to my temples, I murmur, "I don't really think you're in any position to be second-guessing me right now. Not after that shitshow." When Julian merely huffs in response, I fix him with an unwavering stare and ask, "Are you here to take me back to Carrow, too?"

A scrunched face is what I get along with an incredulous, "What? Hell, no!"

Truthfully, I hate that I'm relieved to hear that. Though I want to be a good sister and be where my brother is, I must admit that I'm afraid of two things that surely await me at Carrow's estate: Dermot Carrow IV and Michael Adler. It's sad. Sick and sad. In an effort to escape my own discomfort, I hum, "Yeah, _well_ , although you answered my question I still have more." I cross my arms. "So, you can stop making that face."

"Heh, okay. I'm sure you have questions." Julian adjusts the cups distractedly, turning them this way and that like their placement actually matters. "Lemme answer you this first, to knock out some more questions since I hate the whole 'Twenty Questions' bit: You and me? We're stayin' here in Kirkwall for a while. Like, a long while."

I stare blankly. "Now I have more questions."

"Dammit."

"Why are you here if not to take me back? Carrow said he'd send someone for me. I assumed that meant he was dragging me back to his little slice of heaven." Hand waves lazily toward Julian, trying to come off indifferent even though I'm keyed up. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be there to bond with Michael? I thought that was supposed to be your whole role in this mess."

My fellow Summoned shrugs indifferently. "Actually, no. Everyone agrees that it's best if you stay outta that mansion so you don't cause anymore trouble, ya troublemaker, with all your," now it's his turn to wave his hand about in my general direction, "lack of finesse with your Eye stuff- Compulsion! Yeah, with your _untrained compulsion_. And, well, Stevie and I both agreed that _you_ need a bit of guidance yourself and that it'd be better for Michael if he had a familiar face around. Sadly, I ain't all too familiar and I accidentally punched him in the face durin' our little confrontation. There's a bit of bad blood there." Julian looks away uncomfortably because my expression is downright murderous. "Besides, being an apex Summoned, Stevie can passively influence your bro just fine."

"And why did he have to be taken to Carrow's?" I barely grind out. I'm about five seconds away from decking this guy, just repaying his assault on my brother (even though, logically, I know he didn't have any other choice when handling the boy during his rampage). But assault would only bring momentary satisfaction. Answers? Well, that's a satisfaction that I hope will last.

Julian doesn't even look at me as he shrugs. "Well, after I got Michael to calm down he wrote you a lil' somethin' somethin'." Still, he looks away as he digs into his cloak and produces a folded piece of parchment. The bastard all but tosses it at me and I scowl before opening it, definitely aware that he has yet to answer my question about the dubious location of this bonding procedure. And then my mind blanks.

I feel my heart freeze when I recognize the small, neatly written letters. I think I breathe out "oh, shit" instead of just thinking it, judging by Julian's choked snort. " _Billy_ ," the letter starts, and I feel a headache coming on before I can get through that opening line. Actually, no, that's not a headache. I think- I think I'm having a panic attack. This was in my dream... The feeling of those dark eyes on me, ever present and unwelcome, makes me want to scream. Before the house guest can ask what's going on, I'm gearing up and headed for the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"Out," I grunt, "just... out."

"Well, mind if I come with? I _am_ your new babysitter, after all."

Him calling himself my babysitter nearly shoves me right into the cold arms of that damned panic attack because it just further reinforces this new, startling idea that I can't control myself. I halt at the door, hand outstretched, before turning to look at the creep over my shoulder. "Actually, now that you mention it, I _do_ mind. And you know what else?" I turn around fully, hands on my hips. "I don't want you hovering over me all the time."

Lower lip pouts out as the man frowns at me. "That's _rude_. I helped you!"

"I-" I take a breath to keep from saying something nasty. "I understand. I really do. And I thank you for that… and for looking out for my brother's welfare." Shame burns my skin in the form of a blush. My head was so far up my ass that I thought I was perfectly capable of looking out for my brother despite what everyone else said. And all I accomplished was nearly getting my brother to murder me because of how careless I was. Because I was so selfish in wanting to have him by my side. I just had to go and prove everyone's point for them, didn't I?

"Hey, hey. I didn't mean to make you feel bad," Julian sputters, looking flustered. "Aw, shit, kid. I get why you fought me and Stevie about taking your brother away. I do. Shit, I used to have a little brother, too. Once upon a time." He looks away. "Look, how 'bout this? I'll give you your space but we'll discuss your ability and the best ways to control it every other day? Okay? Sorta like a class!"

Turning to leave, I shoot Julian a fake smile. "Yeah, sure. Sounds cool. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going out." I just want so desperately to leave. This house feels like it's getting smaller and smaller by the second. The walls close in on me, the air grows thicker. It's hard to breathe. Hard to think.

My turmoil must be as plain as day. Something in Julian's expression changes as his eyes rove over my face. His eyes are suddenly sharp, critical, and I step back uncomfortably. "Hey... You mind tellin' me somethin'?" Those eyes continue to search for something. "You kinda look familiar, y'know? Do you… You wouldn't happen to dream, would ya?"

Blindly grappling for the door handle, I wheeze, " _Bye_."

* * *

" _Don't_ tell me he was actually in that dream with me," I growl to myself. Fingers rake through my hair a few times as I stand on my doorstep before finally giving up on figuring out just what the hell is going on in my own head. I yank my cowl up and stalk off into the night. God, I need a bath but I don't even know what time it is: Late? Yes, it's late o'clock. Patting my belt down, I come across my purse and weigh it in the palm of my hand.

The comfortable girth is something I'm not accustomed to, and with Bartlett's debts paid in full I'm probably going to be able to grow accustomed to actually having money to throw around. Biting my lip, I skirt by The Man and head towards Hightown to buy myself a bath and some time alone. Usually I'm not one for alone time, but I think I really need it given these most recent events.

By the time I dunk myself below the rose scented surface of my bath, I've already punched one would-be goon in the nose and throat-punched another, all the while I had yelled at them about "staying in school" and "crack is whack" like some crazy drunkard. Under different circumstances I probably would have simply threatened the losers and chased them off, but I was (am still, sorta) in a bad mood.

Besides, _someone_ needed to teach those punks that they were going down the wrong path. Mind you, my motives weren't so altruistic when I assaulted them. I just needed a good punching bag and their mangled faces managed to swallow up some of my sorrow. Too bad my hands hurt now and I have a smattering of blood on the hem of my shirt like I murdered someone…

When my lungs begin to scream and my chest starts to ache, I resurface and gasp for air. It's a good thing that I'm so busy gasping that I don't have the ability to scream when I find someone sitting casually in my private room. Chest heaving, I slip a bit in my tub and my chin just touches the water's surface. Simmering chocolate eyes appraise me as the pirate crosses her arms just below her breasts and leans further into the single elegant, high-backed chair in the room that I had tossed my "unworthy" clothes onto. Arching a brow, I realize my renegade friend simply discarded my clothes onto the floor quite carelessly. Well, at least she knows their worth.

"Cap."

"Mina," she drawls.

_Oh, boy._

"What are you doing here?"

Her eyebrows pop up. "I could ask you the same question. Don't you have a sweet young brother to take care of?"

My jaw clenches and her eyes zero in on the motion. "No. Not anymore. He... decided he wanted to stay with Kiriyama since the man got himself a nice house. It was a losing custody battle, anyway," I reply wryly.

"What?" She sits forward. "What do you mean he ditched you for Kiriyama? When I dropped him off at your home, everything seemed fine. He was eager for you to get home- well, as eager as a mute can be."

A slow sigh leaves me as I lean back against the tub, head lolling to the side so I don't have to look at her, "So, you dropped him off like you said you would. Why'd I ever doubt you?"

"Of course I did," her tone betrays her, a bit of hurt bleeding through as she finishes, "I promised, didn't I?"

_A good friend. Better than I deserve._

Ignoring that thought, I look over at the woman. "He got himself in a spot of trouble after you left and before I got home." I shrug but quickly dip my shoulders back beneath the surface when the chill in the air nips at my skin. "He says he needs some space."

_Just more lies._

But we do need our space, don't we? I had carelessly, foolishly used my compulsion too close to my brother and I forced him into one of those scary rampages. I said I would protect him but I didn't. I'm sure Mike won't want to look at me right now- not after what he tried to do to me. Shit, the kid probably blames himself. All that big talk about having mastered his ability only for me to come around and wreck it.

Isabela sighs as she throws herself back into the chair, "This is why I never want kids."

I laugh, glad for the distraction, " _That's_ the only reason why? Because they eventually grow up and don't need you anymore? I thought the whole childbirth thing would be the biggest deterrent."

"Ugh. That too."

We fall into silence after that. I don't think she knows how to handle me at the moment, considering my bad track record for nasty emotions. But I have to really hand it to the rogue, seeing as how she doesn't show even the slightest sign of being out of her element. She knows me too well. Dammit. She probably knows how much this is eating at me. Rubbing my nose, I glance at the former captain. "How'd you know I was here, by the way?"

"Oh, come on! That's an obvious one," she laughs. "One of my girls informed me. Said that she saw you enter The Rose and order a private room. When I heard that, I had to come and see," a grin spreads across her full lips, "and I must say I was a bit disappointed to discover that this room was all for you. I thought you'd finally decided to loosen up."

"Oh, you know me," I wave a hand dramatically, "I'm probably more frigid than Aveline."

"Don't say that," she groans.

"What? You know it's true! I told you so before!"

"As frigid as a winter's first snow, yes, I remember," she chuckles and pours herself a drink from the bottle that was provided with the room. "You know, I don't know how that will work out with Hawke. He's frigid, too."

I throw her a startled look. "Why are you bringing him up?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't," I glower at the water.

"I guess there's no use dwelling on it now, though," she sighs dramatically, "since you've already made your choice. Can't get out of the inevitably awkward bedding process." She sniggers the last part and I flick water at her.

Though she's probably right, I don't even want to think about getting into Hawke's pants right now... And I wonder just how in the heck Isabela found out! Did Hawke tell her? Doubtful since he is  _such_ an insanely private person. So, I highly doubt he'd be the one to sing from the rooftops that he and I are in a weird relationship outside of our typical employer-employee one. "News travels fast, but that's nobody's business," I reply evasively but my curiosity inevitably gets the best of me and I steal a glance at the pirate. "How'd you know, anyway?"

"Varric."

"Right. Why am I not surprised? He's a bigger gossip than the old birds at the Chantry."

"That he is," Isabela chuckles, "but I'm not complaining. He can provide hours of entertainment."

"That he can," I murmur, continuing to stare into the water as I try to beat back thoughts of a naked Garrett Hawke because now is _definitely_ not the time for that.

"Come down to The Man when you're done bathing," Isabela says suddenly, putting her cup down.

"What? Why?"

As the sultry pirate swaggers up to the door and opens it, she turns and winks, "I think you need a drink." She disappears before popping her dark head back in with a frown. "Oh, and be careful on the way out."

"Oh, gee. What's _that_ supposed to mean? Is someone who wants my head out there?" I question with a heavy sigh and she shrugs.

Then I'm by myself again. Head tilts back to rest against the lip of the tub as I massage my temples. Truthfully, I'm kinda glad that she left when she did, as I am currently trying to avoid wrapping my head around the fact that some fake god is, well, in my head. Sorry, but no. I don't want yet another loony traipsing about in my head like it's a vacation home. More like an asylum, actually… Anyway, I said it to the not-dragon-thing and I'll say it again: I refuse to believe that that _whatever_ is a god. Hell, it's probably a demon. Just my luck to have a friggin' demon and a blood mage tag-teaming in my head.

_How the heck am I supposed to get rid of them?_

With exaggeratedly sluggish movements, I get out of the tub, dry off, and get dressed. I'm about to throw on my top when something catches my finger. Retracting my hand, I frown down at the corner of yellowed and cracking parchment. Those neatly scrawled letters, tightly squeezed together on the small space, make me feel ill. The second my fingers graze the letter, I realize that a drink _does_ sound good right about now, and I shove the letter into my purse and out of my mind. Swallowing thickly, I leave the room. I swear I'm not even out of the room for a full thirty seconds before I'm slamming into someone and swearing. The person apologizes and puts some distance between us.

"I'm sorry, I was- Oh, it's _you_."

I blink up at the massive Templar before recognizing those icy blue eyes and sighing, "Carver."

 _Isabela_ did _say to be careful... Gosh, I am so not in the mood for this total horseshit._

The boy crosses his arms and I know our little altercation isn't the end of it. "I hear you've been working with my brother. It's a wonder he still trusts you."

My hackles are rising but I'm trying to play it cool. I know how Carver is. Though he's loathe to admit it, he loves his brother... the very brother I back-stabbed in the Deep Roads. I'm sure it will be a cold day in hell when Carver and Aveline decide to forgive me for that. I throw the Templar a terse smile and reply, "Who says it has anything to do with trust?"

Carver snorts, "It has everything to do with trust. You know, for some reason, my brother still trusts you and in a great lapse of judgment, I did, too. But that was my mistake."

_Is today national "Make Mina feel like shit" day?_

I click my tongue at him. "It's pretty late. Don't you Templars have a strict curfew? I thought the Chantry choir came into your barracks to sing you bedtime lullabies about the Maker and how he sees what you do in your bed at night."

"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are." The young Templar frowns, almost pouting like the child that I know he still is.

_Leave. Now. Before things get worse and you say something that you'll both regret._

"Your mom thinks I'm funny." I fire off before purposefully bumping him with my shoulder as I walk off. Yup, sure did just pull a "your mom" joke out of my ass. And I'm not even sorry (ashamed, yes, but not sorry). However, I _am_ sorry that I bumped Carver with my bad shoulder. The damn thing still aches even after a steaming hot bath and I'm biting my lip as I storm off, grateful that the hotheaded Templar can't see my pained face. That would effectively ruin my dramatic exit and we can't have that, no sir.

When I'm finally out of that incense-laced hellhole, I groan and clutch my shoulder. Of course it would still be a bit stiff, considering it was dislocated only a few hours ago. I wish it hurt more, though, so it could keep me from thinking about the cruel fact that I didn't even have my brother safe and sound in my house for more than a _single_ freakin' day before I managed to blow it all to hell. And to keep me from thinking on Carver's truthful words.

"It has everything to do with trust," he said. And he said he used to trust me. Past tense. Gotta love that past tense. You know, when I was leaving the Deep to go look for my brother, I was completely cognizant of the fallout that was sure to ensue. Back then, I said I was ready to embrace it. But now that I get those looks from Aveline and the third-degree from Carver, I know that I wasn't. That I'm not.

The idea of being alone right now sets my teeth on edge and serves to quicken my pace as I head toward Lowtown. Before I get there, however, I'm accosted once more and it feels like the whole world knows my name. In this moment I sort of regret being associated with well-known people in Kirkwall. People know Hawke, Varric, and Isabela; and since I'm usually in their company, people think they know _me_ as well.

It's sort of like when you see pictures of a celebrity and there's always that one no-name friend awkwardly in the background- they're _always_ there, so you get used to them and sometimes assign them some nickname or actually look them up to learn their name or something like that, but you don't _really_ know who they are. I'm that awkward no-name friend. Except most people know me as Girl or Boy, Solis, or my personal favorites: "the pirate's bitch" and "Hawke's lapdog."

"Mina?"

"What is it _now_?" I groan, teetering on the edge of the first step to freedom.

A dark chuckle, "It's been quite some time since I last saw you."

Turning on my heel, I'm about to fire off some rebuttal when I freeze, "Fenris?" I can honestly say that a cropping of shockingly white hair and two wide green eyes are a combo that I didn't expect to see. Fenris and I left on relatively friendly terms, like how someone would treat a friend of a friend, actually. We don't actively seek each other out for the sake of good company but we don't ignore each other in the streets, either.

With that in mind, it shouldn't surprise me too much that the leggy elf is greeting me on his own turf, but the thought of social interaction with a distant acquaintance seems too taxing to deal with. I don't trust myself to be the usually exuberant Mina that everyone has come to expect. I don't have any wit on the tip of my tongue much less a dirty joke festering in my head. And oh how I hate to disappoint.

"What are you doing out this late?" The tall elf questions. "One would think that you would be home at this hour, considering you've been so busy."

"Ah, you know," I shrug uncomfortably in the unsettling silence of Hightown at night, "justice never sleeps."

_Easy now, Batman._

One thick dark brow rises as Fenris tilts his head at me like a giant, inquisitive cat. "You're out on a job?"

"No," I deadpan, "are you?"

"Actually-"

"Ah, this is the infamous Wilhelmina? So, we meet again!" That thick brogue causes my eyes to widen as I catch sight of the ex-prince in his shining armor, sidling up to stand beside Fenris like the two are good friends. His armor catches the moonlight and I nearly hiss. Damn, he must polish that thing religiously! Oh. No pun intended. How many times have I made that joke, now? And just why in the hell is this borderline stranger using my full name?

Isabela must have got to him, considering only she and Mama Hawke call me by my given name on occasion. Usually for scoldings... But anyway, I'm not in the most sociable mood, so I feel as though I have to apologize when the prince starts droning on and on and on in that lovely voice and I feel my eye twitching. And it must be visibly twitching judging by the slight upturn of the corners of Fenris' mouth.

"I remember meeting you but I didn't have the pleasure of getting properly acquainted." The prince gives me a charming smile that would make me melt if I weren't so annoyed, "You're all Varric and Isabela ever talk about when we get stuck in a tight spot. According to them, you're the best at causing distractions and taking a beating at the same time, as they say." He looks mortified when I do a full-body twitch like he just shot me with one of his arrows and a light blush tints his cheeks at what he just said. For his part, Fenris just raises an eyebrow at his archer pal.

Lips pull into a tight smile and I drawl, "Is that so?"

The prince's blush darkens. "Forgive me. I meant no offense when I said that, my lady. It was meant as a compliment on your fighting prowess. In fact, Hawke is just around the corner. We're on a job and I would be honored if you would- Where are you going?"

"To get drunk and make questionable decisions. I'm _the best_ at that, too, so you can add that to your little catalog!" I call over my shoulder before I'm down the flight of stairs and out of sight.

_The best at taking a beating? Well, I guess that's true._

The stench of piss ale and most likely _actual_ piss is a surprisingly welcoming and familiar odor that nearly knocks me off of my feet the second I open the door to The Hanged Man. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if it burned my eyebrows off or if people go all Indiana-Jones-face-melty-Nazi when they enter this establishment. Boy, that's a heady stench.

Pursing my lips into a strained smile, I make my way into the back of the tavern where the rooms are carefully tucked away from the rabble. I'm down the small, filthy hall and almost at Isabela's room when a door opens somewhere behind me and a familiar voice calls out my name. Shit. I know which door opened. A smug dwarf leans against the door frame when I turn around. "Good evening, Shortcake," I greet casually, like my world isn't falling to pieces around me.

"Rivaini said you'd be here. She told me to tell you that she got a lead on something she's been pursuing for a while and wanted me to apologize on her behalf for leaving," he states immediately, all business.

Groaning, I try not to look disappointed as I hook my thumbs into my belt and rock back on my heels, "Ah, okay. Well, thanks for informing me. I'll be-"

"I'll buy you a drink," Varric interrupts, warm honey eyes not betraying a single emotion as he signals to someone from the hall. "I've heard you had a rough night."

I run my tongue along my teeth before stating, "I'll bet you have. Heard you and Isabela tell each other _everything_ , apparently."

"Now, now. Don't be like that, Lucky," Varric chastises as he ushers me into his tidy room.

"Hey, I _will_ be like that," I pout and yank my arm free when the pulpy wood of the door frame snags my top, "since I don't like my personal business being the talk of the town."

"Not the town, just between friends," the dwarf clarifies.

"That's not exactly better."

"Listen, Lucky: Rivaini and I care about you and it concerns us that you don't exactly seem to care about yourself."

Sitting down carefully, I raise a brow at the dwarf as he takes his seat at the head of the table. "What are you talking about?"

A blond eyebrow raises in skepticism. "Wallowing in despair for days on end, starving yourself, randomly disappearing for varying amounts of time and turning up out of the blue only to start the same cycle all over again," the dwarf fixes me with a hard look as he ticks the list off on his fingers.

"Not _always_." I grumble, refusing to make eye contact.

"We were all waiting for you to come back from Ferelden, you know, and we thought you would at least inform us when you made it back safe and sound. And what was the first thing you did when you got back? You locked yourself away." The dwarf sighs, obviously frustrated, "I was being rather lenient when I made my social call because I didn't know what state you were in and, quite frankly, I was pretty damn relieved to see that you were all in one piece. But it's been a day and you've had some time to make your peace."

Hesitantly, I look up. "And now?"

"Now it's my time, as a _friend_ , to ask you to be a bit more forthcoming from now on. At least with your friends." Gloved hands are placed carefully on the table in a subtly disarming gesture. "I'm not asking you to lay your heart bare- that's too much to ask. All I'm asking is that you ask for help when you need it, Lucky. Pride can be an ugly thing- it's toppled empires and can do much worse to actual people."

_This guy…_

I sigh, "I knew you wouldn't let me off the hook that easily and that this lecture was going to come around sooner or later. Don't get me wrong, I know I deserve it. However, starving wasn't by choice." I add lamely.

"No one ever knows what's going on with you, Lucky," my dwarven companion pauses when I raise my eyebrows at him, "aside from me, of course."

"Spymaster."

The businessman chuckles at that, "I have my ways. But it would be nice if I didn't have to use up resources just to find out if my friend is still alive when we live in the same neighborhood."

Feeling thoroughly chastened, I cup my chin in my palm and frown down at the table. "I know and I'm sorry. Things with me are just... complicated."

"When is anything ever simple? Simplicity is a luxury these days, Lucky," Varric states bluntly and I try not to cringe.

Our ale is served and I'm surprisingly frugal with my sips, but that's because I have an observant dwarf in the room with me and a letter that seems to burn in my purse. The ale is surprisingly smooth, considering I haven't had a drink in ages and the first time I had this swill I nearly choked on it. Thank goodness it isn't whiskey or I'd probably be dead from asphyxiation. As the alcohol slowly begins to burn through my veins and numb my fingertips, I get to thinking. Which is a bad thing to do when running on booze, to tell the truth.

With the letter seeming to scald me through the soft leather of my purse and my trousers, I flick my eyes toward the dwarf and ask, "Do you mind sorta… um..." Brown eyes watch me attentively and I look away. I fidget with my purse and produce the letter. "I need to read this and I'd appreciate it if you would pretend that you don't see me get upset," I finish with a grimace.

A chuckle and the scraping of a chair being pushed back has me looking up at the dwarf, "Of course. Sit over here, though. You're acting like I've got the Taint." Amber eyes twinkle when I move to comply. "I'm the embodiment of discretion, Lucky. However, if you need an ear or a shoulder, all you have to do is ask."

"Thanks, Varric." My use of the dwarf's name has him looking tense now. I take the closest chair and allow the dwarf to buy me another pint. The air burns my nose as I breathe in deep, trying and failing to steel my nerves against whatever is in this letter. My leg bobs up and down nervously for a few moments before I decide to suck it up and just get it all over with. With a quick flick of my index finger, I have the little square of parchment opened. The second I see "Billy," however, all that posturing goes out the window and I end up sloshing ale down my front. Varric is quick to offer me one of his tunics, a genial smile on his face and a good-humored laugh falling from his lips; the warmth of both is lost on me.

I change eagerly into his intricately embellished tunic (a lovely chartreuse and white that I've never seen him don, probably because chartreuse is a bitch to match) the second he closes the door to give me my privacy. When I've changed, I just sit on my chair for a while. Isabela must have told him that my brother left and that's why the usually charming dwarf is being especially kind tonight. That's one thing that I love about Varric: he takes care of his own.

_Again: You're lucky to have friends like these, Mina._

When the short rogue knocks on the door and asks if I've passed out in a puddle of my own vomit and if he should perhaps call for Anders to revive me, I realize that I've probably been sitting in silence for a bit too long and that damned letter on the table before me is still unread. Varric, ever the gentleman, still doesn't enter the room even as he becomes increasingly concerned due to my silence. Distractedly, I pull my black cowl on and give Varric the all-clear to re-enter his room.

The rogue immediately notices how I'm watching the letter like it's a poisonous snake on the table. Amber eyes dance between me and the parchment. "Okay, my curiosity is piqued. What's this? A love note?" A grin spreads across his handsome face, "A dirty love letter from some lovesick noble, perhaps? I've heard Rivaini's interesting stories about how you've won the hearts of many an uptight noble. Everyone has a fetish and the 'roguish lover' is a common one amongst nobility."

" _Oh_ , how I _wish_ it was a raunchy letter," I drawl sarcastically, "but it's not. It's a breakup letter of sorts. My brother left me, as I'm sure you've already heard."

He goes from jovial to sober in millisecond. "I heard."

"Yeah," cupping my chin, I look at the dwarf with doleful eyes, "just pretend to see and hear nothing for the next five minutes, okay?"

Leaning against the table beside me, he gives me a serious look. "Did things really turn that sour between you two? You and your brother seemed pretty close when I saw you two together."

"I grew so accustomed to living for myself that I forgot what it was like to put someone else's needs before mine." I smile sadly, bitterly. "Let's just say I thought I knew what I was doing- that I knew what was best. But in reality I was just doing what was best for _me_. And Mike needed better than that. I let him down." When I see those sympathetic amber eyes, a pang of self-loathing shoots through me. I'm not deserving of anyone's sympathy right now. "So, like I said, just pretend you're blind and deaf for a few minutes. Okay?"

"Fine," Varric sighs as he sits back at his spot to my left. "By the way, that color suits you, Lucky."

"Thank you! Now," I clear my throat and give an encouraging wave, "go on. Ignore me."

The dwarf shakes his head at me and begins to thumb through one of the books on his table, occasionally taking a dignified sip of his ale. I watch him. He's certainly elegant and refined, strangely _regal_ , almost. Varric Tethras is one of those guys that people call a "man's man" and it almost makes me laugh. Then again, I'm in one of those wretched moods where anything can either make me laugh hysterically or break down into sobs- bit of a coin toss on that one. But the handsome dwarf is thoroughly distracted, so I take this as my cue to rip this bandaid off.

" _Billy_ ," the tattered letter starts and I feel a cloying sorrow begin to build deep in my chest, " _I'm sorry_ _about what I did_ _to you- what I tried to do_ _._ _I know you're_ _upset_ _, but this is for the best. I hurt you. I couldn't live with myself if I had gone further._ _I believe the phrase goes: it's the nature of the beast? Unfortunately, this time around, that phrase refers to a very literal beast._ _But now that I'm not there with you, t_ _rust Julian_ _._

" _I'm not sure if I should write out the finer details lest this letter wind up in the wrong hands and I don't want to write anything that might incriminate you, given the current political situation in Kirkwall,_ _so you have to l_ _isten to Julian. I know that you probably don't_ _feel like you can trust him because of_ _who he has aligned himself with, but h_ _is joining together with Carrow was out of necessity, I can assure you_ _._

" _There are some things that we have to do on our own and this is one of them._ _We'll write each other_ _and I'll see you around_ _. Trust me. Michael. P.S., Stay away from the Qunari. I know you like things with horns so you can make lame jokes but don't be stupid,_ _dumbass_ _._ _They won't appreciate your jokes nearly as much as you'd like. That's the extent of the 'spoilers' I'll give you, since you stupidly say you don't want to know anything._ "

For a while, I stare at the letter, clenching and unclenching my jaw to the point that I think it'll be sore later. I hadn't even realized that I'd been crying when a handkerchief is offered to me and I look up to see sad amber eyes. "Your five minutes are up," the dwarf informs me and I take the handkerchief with a huff of a laugh.

"Thanks, Shortcake." I sniff and rub aggressively at my eyes, "The letter wasn't terrible, if you were wondering. I actually thought Michael would be a bit more accusatory, as is his nature, but he went easy on me. Wish I could do the same but that's _not_ in my nature."

That letter was like a nice, firm punch in the gut- powerful and breathtaking in the worst way possible. And it kills me that Mike is putting the blame on himself. Yeah, he tried to kill me, but I set the stage for that shit. However, I know Mike wouldn't want me agonizing over this for too long. Self-flagellation was always something that pissed him off and I could never get away with having a pity party in that kid's midst. 

And as much as thinking about what Mike would do if he was here right now is helping to pull me out of this emotional gutter, the strange little nuances of that letter threaten to kick me in the face and shove me right back in. _Trust_ Julian? Excuse me? Exactly how long was I knocked out on that damn floor? How long did my baby brother know Julian to be able to dedicate the majority of that letter to a character reference and tell me to trust the man? And "I'll see you around?" Aren't we being kept _apart_ because I blew it in the biggest way possible?

I've been glaring at the letter for a bit too long because now Varric is frowning at me suspiciously. Shoving the letter back into my purse, I throw the dwarf a charming grin along with his handkerchief. "Thank you for the emotional support, Shortcake. You're a real pal."

Varric gives me a pitying smile that makes the ale in my stomach curdle. "You're acting a little strange, Lucky, and I know you're not drunk so don't even try using that as an excuse. Did that letter bother you that much?"

Rolling my eyes, I tut, "What? Are we gonna bring it in for a hug? My brother always said that hugs were for the weak. But I'll make an exception for you if you promise not to tell-"

"Varric, I thought I asked you to keep an eye on-"

Everything goes dead silent as Hawke steps into the room, halting mid-sentence to survey the scene before him. I guess he was expecting to catch Varric alone, not with some down-in-the-dumps ex-smuggler wearing his least favorite tunic. Those fiery eyes stay on the tunic for a second too long and Hawke sighs like a disappointed parent, probably thinking that I was binge drinking and made a mess of myself. I scowl. Well, it's better than him knowing that I spilled ale on myself at the sight of my brother's nickname for me.

Varric merely shakes his head at us. Oh, boy! Another lecture is coming! Or a fight. Aren't they basically the same thing, except one is more one-sided? Well, before all hell can break loose, I glance at Varric and tip my half-empty tankard toward him. When he gives me a bland look, I shake the cup for emphasis. I want him out (Of his own room? Rude, I know.) so that I can clear up that mess of nearly breaking Hawke's wrist and then scampering off like a spooked cat.

_It's now or never._

"I have a quest for you, dearest dwarf," I drawl and shove the tankard in his direction, "for some fresh ale for our mutual mage pal. He looks like he could use it, wouldn't you say?"

Amber eyes look between us and the dwarf shrugs. "As usual, Lucky, you're spot on. I'll catch up with you later, Hawke. As you can see, I have company. Try to keep her entertained." The dwarf smiles knowingly as he saunters out of the room with the two tankards.

The mage towers over me for a few moments before taking a seat next to me, turning the chair toward me. It feels like the tension gets amped up a thousand times as he turns that chair. Oh, damn! I can feel golden eyes on me as I stare fixedly at the table, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I try to come up with something to say. Nothing can distract me from the tension in the air, which makes it that much harder to find the right words.

With an awkward cough, I glance at the mage and explain, "If you're wondering about the tunic, I spilled ale all over myself by accident. I'm not drunk."

"What are you doing here?"

I furrow my brow at the table like I'm holding a conversation with it. "What does anyone do at a tavern? _Drinking_. I thought that much was obvious."

A sigh, "You were in Hightown earlier. Sebastian and Fenris-"

"Ran into me, yeah. Said you were just around the corner." I shrug, still staring at the table. "Sorry I bailed for dinner and then didn't stick around to say hi to you in Hightown. So... _Hi_."

There's a twinge of annoyance in Garrett's voice as he asks, "Are you avoiding me now?"

"I saw you a few hours ago," I scoff defensively. "How can you automatically assume that I'm avoiding you?"

 _Because you_ are _avoiding him?_

"I apologize. We didn't exactly leave things on the best of terms earlier. I was hoping that you would explain what I did wrong." There's a tense moment of silence as I try to figure out how to broach the subject of my hostile feelings toward the mage and the voice in my head but Hawke takes my silence as a bad thing and runs with it. "I understand if you're having second thoughts, Mina. About us, I mean."

"You- It's not what you think," I murmur ashamedly, finally turning to face the mage. "It's just that… there's something we need to talk about. It's pretty serious."

Hawke watches me closely, hands folded on his lap. He looks grim. "Mina, I know that this is not the most conventional of relationships. I'm your employer and I'm significantly older than you. Those are _two_ positions of authority that I'm afraid I might have abused considering that by me asking to court you, you were in no position to deny me without fear of some sort of consequence. Therefore, I completely understand if you only accepted my offer because you feared for your place in my employ. And I want it to be known that if you have any reservations, you will not be punished for refusing me."

Needless to say, I'm horrified. "Oh my God, Hawke! You're not even that much older than me! You're like, seven-" Oh-ho-ho boy! Garrett Hawke is seven years older than me. There is a seven year age difference between us. I pause as that realization hits me. I bite my lip, bad mood slipping away and sarcastic humor eagerly replacing it. "Wow, Hawke. I never thought about it. You're freakin' _old!_ "

The mage blushes a dark pink but nods his head in agreement. "Which is why I felt it necessary to bring this subject up. You're a young woman and I wouldn't want to take advantage of you."

"When I was seven, you were fourteen."

"Yes, I know-"

"When I was fourteen, you were _twenty-one!_ "

"Mina..."

"Okay, okay! Sorry," I snort. To date, Hawke is the oldest person I've been involved with. Actually, there was a woman I met at a club with Chey. She had a major case of baby-face because she turned out to be twenty-eight when I was nineteen. I took a picture with her and randomly showed it to my uncle who flipped his shit because it turned out he went to the police academy with the woman. I think the fact that she went to class with Uncle Carl (and my uncle had had a crush on her) turned me off of her more than the age difference. But right now, I have to focus my attention on Hawke who seems to be really torn up over the whole "seven years" thing.

"Listen, Hawke. What happened back at my place wasn't me freaking out over you being older than me or even that you're my boss. I have no problem telling people no. Just ask my previous employers." At that, I see a flare of anger in those golden eyes and internally coo over Hawke's naïveté in that regard. Drumming my fingers anxiously against my thigh, I continue, "The truth is..."

Aaaand I still don't know how to talk about this. What's the easiest way to say: "When you touched my face, your magic sorta zapped me and it felt really nice. Like, so nice that I actually considered killing you for it. And now I don't know if that's going to happen all the time so I'm worried about whether or not I can control that impulse around you?" I almost want Varric to return so I can bail on this conversation. How long does it take to get served in this place, anyhow? It feels like Varric has gone off on some marvelous adventure to recapture Erebor.

Fingers twitch against my thigh as I try to phrase what I want to say in a way that makes me seem less like a psycho. I don't know how to explain this because it's never happened before! I'm suddenly reminded of Mike studiously scribbling things down as I talked to him about my problems. With a groan, I realize I should have taken his notes and gone up to Bart's studio. Too bad my panic attack had me practically throwing myself out of the house. Too bad I can't just stand up and ditch Hawke again to go and get those notes.

I'm taking too long to reply, anyway, judging by Hawke's increasingly stressed expression. With a sigh, I reach out to pat Hawke on the shoulder and freeze. Hold up. Will I get shocked again? Will I feel that… _stuff_ again? I feel like I don't know anything about anything anymore. But I just _need_ to know what's what right now. Because I don't think I can get away with sneaking off back home to hastily read up on what my brother so urgently wanted me to read and _then_ come back and have a talk with Hawke. I have to solve this problem. Now.

_Buck up. You can control yourself. And if you can't? Well, you know how to run._

I stand suddenly, ripping my gloves off and shoving them into my belt as the chair presses into the backs of my knees. I turn to Hawke, full of determination, and demand, "Let me touch you." And I immediately want to die.

_I want to punch myself in the face. Just... someone punch me in the face._

"I beg your pardon?" The prim mage sounds so scandalized, golden eyes widened and cheeks pink, that I almost start laughing my loud, uncomfortable laugh.

Forcing my anxiety down, I glance at him. "I swear it's nothing weird! Just be quiet and stay still. No matter what, just... stay still." I grimace when he glowers. "Please? I swear I'll explain it all later."

Golden eyes appraise me before the mage gives a curt nod. "Fine."

Hesitantly, I turn around to face him and reach forward, trying to ignore how Hawke watches my every move. I kinda wish I had blindfolded him, but that probably would've sent the wrong message. Well, a _worse_ message than my "let me touch you" bullshit. Hand shaking like mad, I practically lurch forward. Fingertips pressed into his left cheekbone, I realize nothing has happened. No shock. Not even a little jolt of electricity. _Nothing_. Just me with my fingers nearly digging into Garrett Hawke's face while the magic man furrows his brow at me.

Oh, dear lord. I really ought to retract my hand and stop feeling up his face. Feeling up his face? Oh, shit. Yup. That's what I'm doing. "I don't understand," I find myself murmuring as I stare at where my fingertips connect with his soft skin. "I mean, I _guess_ this is a good thing? I don't really..." I trail off.

After not receiving a mind-numbing burst of electric energy, it's like I've been given the all clear to explore the man's face. Fingers drag down his cheek to lightly dance through prickly facial hair before tracing along his jaw. Now my other hand has joined the exploration, roaming up to his hairline to gently brush back dark locks from his brow before threading through his thick hair to (rather enthusiastically and, quite frankly, a bit too aggressively) grab the back of his head.

The feeling is so surreal. The warmth of his skin, the prickle of his hair. I can touch him and _not_ get the shit shocked out of me and _not_ get that disconcerting little voice in my head, begging for release. It's like this is all new to me. You'd swear I've never touched a person's face before with how I'm behaving. Or I've never touched hair in my entire life. But, _God_ , I've been so starved of human contact that this feels so… almost overwhelmingly nice. And I find that I want to be able to do this all the time. Even if Hawke might think it's kinda-

"Mina."

That voice is low and thick, ripping me from my absence of logical thought. This certainly isn't normal behavior. I think I'll blame my nerves for- Hot breath ghosts across my face and I realize, with a painful twist of my stomach, that I had been slowly pulling Hawke's face toward mine like some sorta perv. Eyes widen in horror when I realize just how close we are. He has to lean forward in his chair because of my insistent tugging, hands clamped down on his knees so tight that his bare knuckles are white.

An apology lodges itself somewhere in my throat, stuck behind a lump of humiliation. But I still don't let go. At least, not yet. Do I think I'm in some tacky romance film where this is acceptable? It's like my brain is slowly thawing after having been frozen for centuries. Social etiquette screams at me and I'm sure my grandma would try to drown me in a kiddie pool of holy water for assaulting someone in such a personal manner. Here I am, dressed in some flimsy excuse of a tunic, practically pouncing on the guy the second Varric leaves.

"Mina," Hawke says once more and I actually look at him this time, "you told me not to move. I would like very much to move right now."

Golden eyes stare at me intently, his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink and his breathing is shallow. Then I realize that _I'm_ not even breathing. My breath is stilled in my chest, lips slightly parted as I stare right back at the man like I was caught during some criminal activity (which isn't _too_ far from the truth, but...). Fingers begin to shake along the nape of his neck and he barely suppresses a shiver as my nerves fail me, my other hand falls away from his chin to rest listlessly by my side.

What the hell am I doing? I wanted to see if he'd shock me again and he didn't, so... Time to let go, right? Right. So why am I still holding on? Why are my fingers curling against the heated flesh of his neck? Maybe I've actually died again since I can't seem to pull myself away? I swallow hard, audibly, and he glances down at my lips as I barely whisper, "Move."

Oh, no! I'm about to let some half-baked apology spew from me along with an obnoxiously loud, obviously forced laugh to say that I was just joking and please don't hit me, when a firm warmth keeps my lips pressed tightly together. Eyes wide, I freeze. My throat is tight. My nose is assaulted by that comfortingly familiar musk of lyrium and spice. He moves slowly, winding a hand up my back to gently tug my cowl from my head. I can feel his hot fingers burning against my scalp and I briefly wonder if I'm made of ice.

A strong arm snakes around my waist to pull me closer, heat radiating through my thin tunic. I'm standing between his knees now, head tilted down, body completely rigid like the most awkward statue in the world. I expect that I'll coolly step away and fire off some witty remark, but I don't. His lips are softer than they look, which is why I blame him completely for my inability to pull away. A steady heartbeat nearly stutters and stops when teeth nip at my bottom lip. Putting up some mental fortifications so I don't wimp out, I slowly ease into the kiss.

His grip is firm but not uncomfortable, it's strong and stable. I don't think I ever fully realized how strong Garrett Hawke is, I was so busy poking fun at him for being a robe-wearing mage. His tongue brushes against mine, tasting like some sugary potion, and fire seems to burn through my veins. My fingers tangle into his hair and tug lightly. He pulls me closer, chest flush against my body to engulf me in his heat. A moan escapes me and he tenses up against me, fingers digging into my hips.

_Oh my gosh…_

"Sorry!" I basically scream the word as I shove away from the mage, his head snapping back painfully, "Ah! Uh, you have nice hair. Sorry. It... that's-that's what I was doing. Yeah, just _touching your hair_. Psh! Obviously. What sort of product do you use for it? It's very soft." My voice gets softer and softer as I continue to ramble until I finally just stop speaking altogether.

_Oh, no. Someone kill me._

Rubbing the back of his neck after that vicious assault, the mage frowns at me. "Was that really necessary?"

"Necessary?" I rasp, heart about to rip out of my chest.

Hawke gives me a bland look but I detect a hint of a smile on his now red lips. "That was rather painful, Mina."

Cheeks burn like a dragon is spitting fire in my face as I barely manage to get out a pained, "Sorry." My nerves have me feeling like this is my first kiss. I look everywhere but at him. "I'm just a bit on edge. I swear I'm not this tightly-wound all the time. It's just... You're so..." I tug my cowl back onto my head and pull it low.

I'm not even at arm's length from the mage but he doesn't make to reach out for me to throttle me or anything. Instead, he simply leans back in his chair, folds his hands in his lap, and watches me patiently. It's _so_ much worse than getting a beating. The fact that I can still taste him on my tongue, that his scent is all that I can smell, makes me want to find a dark corner so I can sulk over how I shoved him away before things got really goo- Nope!

Heart still thudding painfully in my chest, beating so hard that I start to believe that it's a very real possibility that it could shoot right out of me, you can't blame me for screaming when Varric seems to slam the door open. He doesn't really, but my senses are rather heightened after everything. Two blond eyebrows nearly shoot into the dwarf's hairline when he sees me standing there between his mage buddy's knees. "Am I interrupting something? I can leave."

"Don't!" I shout and wince. Holding my breath, I calm myself enough to say with a strained smile. "This is your room, Shortcake. I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Varric sidles past us and places the tankards on the table. "To where?"

"I, um, need a bath," I grumble and refuse to look at Hawke as I nearly run for the door on jelly legs.

"Hold on," the rogue looks like he's struggling to contain his laughter as he casually sits in his chair and shoots Hawke a look, "Rivaini told me you were having one when she left you."

_Damn!_

Face aflame, I try for an aloof shrug. "Well, I was-"

Hawke slowly turns his head to look at me from over his shoulder and I swear there's a smug little smirk on his lips, which effectively ruins my attempt at being aloof. "You were what?" Hawke asks innocently.

_I could kill him…_

"I was- Bye!"

The complete and utter humiliation I feel as I exit The Man is nearly indescribable. The strange way that my nerves seem to be on fire falls into the same category, as well. But amidst all of this uncertainty there is one thing that I know for sure: I can safely say that I don't plan on showing my face for the next century. I can also say that I don't think my blush will ever go away, as it feels like it has been seared into my flesh with a branding iron.


	38. Here Comes the Fall

  **29\. Here Comes the Fall**

Knees knock together as I encircle my legs with my arms and pull them close to my chest, trying to adjust myself into a comfortable position on the floor of my deceased friend's messy loft. My own soft, even breathing is all I can hear in the early morning hours along with the occasional crackle of flames. Little nubs of candles surround me, their orange warmth illuminating the neatly scrawled words on the roll of vellum in front of me and casting ominous shadows from the other tightly rolled scrolls and the thick book my brother had stolen from Carrow.

I cock my head as I try to make heads or tails of some diagram. There's a circle with what looks like a cloud labeled "Spectre" at the top, a creepy looking eye aptly labeled "Eye" at the bottom, on the left is a hand faced palm forward labeled "Palm," and on the right is a triangle with another smaller triangle inside of it labeled "Alter." Spectre and Eye are connected by a line and Spectre is also connected to Alter but with a dotted line. Palm is connected to Alter with a solid line and to Eye with a dotted line. Next to the diagram, Mike has written "hierarchy of control."

Not wholly satisfied with the information I've gathered thus far, I unroll a few other scrolls and pour over them. My first clue that this will prove to be a fruitless effort is that my brother's usual neat and tidy handwriting is nothing more than barely legible chicken scratch. And even if he _had_ written legibly, unfortunately for me, the majority of what he's written doesn't make a lick of sense. It reads:

 _Practice of_ _conjuring Summoned_ _est._ _1:98 Divine (_ _exact date_ _?)_ _by Aurelius, Tevinter Imperium._ _Said Old God (_ _name_ _?) provided followers with "tools" to est. dominance_ _and resurrect -unreadable-_ _in dream_ _._ _Summoned and executed count: twenty (?) in span of as many years,_ _created act of bonding. Bonding = cut tie to "Fade" so can be manipulated._ _Seems like process of making Tranquil, can be reversed._ _Cutting tie to home world so when banished Summoned are in "limbo?"_

 _T_ _wo different_ _types of_ _bonding. From summoner_ _(also called claiming)_ _= cut tie to home world; can have unexpected side effects (sudden personality change, increased hostility, memory loss,_ _sudden death_ _)._ _From other Summoned =_ _actual "bonding" like feelings of camaraderie; usual effects are increased ability to control own magic, heightened empathy (can feel if bonded Summoned in danger or killed?), and shared dreams._

 _Alter finally surfaces 21_ _st_ _yr._ _Host incomplete._ _After Aurelius_ _executed for_ _heresy_ _and Alter_ _banished_ _, progeny go underground and swear practice of conjuring Summoned to secrecy._ _Summoned can be banished?_ _All Summoned were est. to have died in previous world_ _(invalid: Steven Kiriyama- Spectre)_ _. All gave account of death, which brought Aurelius' apprentice_ _s_ _to conclusion that Summoned weren't demons._ _Summoning deemed unethical_ _by some._ _Notes burned._ _Others viewed as mercy: "another chance at life."_ _Some notes saved and hidden._

 _S_ _pectre physically enters Fade. Palm manipulates world as if in Fade. Eye mentally enters Fade. None of the three call on spirits to use their energy._ _Who do they call on?_ _Alter dispels magic of all three,_ _can_ _cut tie to Fade._ _Not a spirit. Talks about "inhabited?"_ _None age- static in time so aren't human. Easier to summon more if blood relative in this world- link._ _I was easier to summon because of my sister?_

 _Kiriyama covered in same blood as someone summoned (Bill) so summoning an accident- thought to be part of sacrifice. No other similar accounts in notes- never another "double summoning."_ _Asked Steven about his summoning. Was conscious. Said heard v_ _oices. Call._ _Steven heard the singing, too._

I feel every little hastily scrawled question mark on a deep, spiritual level. These paragraphs are nothing more than incomplete thoughts that seem to be widely out of context. The five different scrolls are rolled up and pushed away lest I throw them. Frustrated, I rub my tired, probably blood-shot eyes. With the shutters open, pale light begins to filter into the painted room, almost washing out the murals- which makes for an eerily beautiful sight. I blink tiredly at the familiar, tight letters of Mike's hand, desperately wanting the words to suddenly make sense.

Maybe I should ask Julian about it all? The weirdo is supposed to be my "teacher," after all. But as I wait for my light-bulb moment, I hear the sound of a door opening and closing. I scramble to roll up the remaining scrolls and stuff everything under a paint-splattered tarp after blowing out all of the candles. Did Julian just leave? Or… did he return? I definitely wouldn't have heard him leave since I was so absorbed in trying to decipher Mike's cryptic writing. I mean damn, it took me _hours_ just to pick apart those scrolls to come up with those nonsensical paragraphs.

And the book? Well, I was shit out of luck when I cracked that one open. I don't know why my brother thought it would be helpful to me, considering it's written in a foreign language (maybe Latin, I think). I'm actually surprised that he was able to read it; and I _know_ he was able to read it since there were nonsensical notes in his hand all in the margins of the book. Even with Mike's notes, there was no way that I was going to be able to decipher the entire book. I tiredly stretch and groan, muscles stiff from being on the floor for hours.

After I got home, I had swiftly gathered up my blankets and a pillow and hurried upstairs into Bartlett's old studio so that I could read up on whatever it was Mike said he left for me. But after a roughly three hour struggle to try to figure out my brother's random diagrams and incomplete writings, it's now five in the morning and I'm wide awake with the realization that after hours of reading, I'm _nowhere_ close to being able to help Mike. In fact, I probably know less about Summoned than when I started.

Why couldn't Mike leave me something _useful_? Or am I just so stupid that I don't understand what he's left me? I bang the back of my head against the wall and relish the subdued pain that blossoms there. Honestly, I'd much rather get gnawed on by a dragon again. That would hurt far less and, no, I'm not being dramatic. I'm sure it's obvious by now that I have some _slight_ control issues and maybe on a good day some clever person can get me drunk enough to admit that I have an inferiority complex that I try to overcompensate for by appearing to be in control of every aspect of my life.

Truly, I like to act like I've got it all figured out, when in reality I can't even get my personal life sorted. College was supposed to help with that. What kept me going was the thought that I'd one day be able to yell "I've got a degree!" from atop my mountain of debt and maybe, just maybe I'd start to feel like I was worth something to someone. But I was always worth something to my brother, even when I resented his very existence. And now he's gone and I can't even help him.

Tilting my head back, I stare at the ceiling and command myself, "Stop it. This helps _no one_." Downstairs, the sound of a booted heel scuffing against rough flooring and the crinkling of paper catches my attention. Julian's still here, then. A creak rips through the silence, the sound of a foot carefully shifting body weight onto the bottom step of the staircase before pausing. Muscles tense as I await the man's ascent.

When nothing happens, I relax my back up against the wall behind me and begin picking at a bloodstain on my breeches, thinking about how I should've brought a change of clothes up here. Stomach gurgles reach my ears but I purse my lips instead of scrambling for the door in search of food. Though I know I have to go down eventually, I'm not tripping all over myself to face the world as a failure.

"Yoo-hoo!"

A long-suffering sigh escapes me in a forceful exhale. Lips tug down as I frown at the door, the sound of Julian's purposely heavy footsteps drawing nearer until knuckles rap on the door. Call me a child, but I'm in no mood to entertain anyone. My pride still smarts from when Varric walked in on me and Hawke. I still can't believe that I _kissed_ Hawke so soon. And not only had I kissed my employer but I had acted like such an inexperienced, overzealous weirdo, too.

Not to boast, but I've kissed people before! Hell, I've _made out_ with other people before on a few occasions! I know how to kiss and yet I froze. Then the way I had scrambled for the door, blushing and stumbling over my own words like an inarticulate fool... Well, let's just say that wasn't my most shining moment. However, that's petty nonsense compared to the gaping wound in my chest that was left from my brother's absence.

_A distraction and some answers_ would _be helpful, though._

"Come in," I groan, just to appease my inner voice. The door opens quickly as the man eagerly shuffles in, wide brown eyes taking in every inch of the room like he just walked into another world. His reaction to the murals isn't the least bit surprising, since Bartlett was certainly talented and the images gracing the walls are so beautifully detailed that they could be mistaken for the real thing. In fact, I'd argue that they're _better_ than the real thing.

Julian's lips part slightly in awe as he slowly pivots on his heel. Every nuance, every facet is absorbed by those bitter chocolate eyes. Finally, his gaze settles on me: a frowning ball of blankets in the far corner of the room, sitting next to a suspiciously lumpy tarp. His lips quirk in an amused smirk and he beckons me over. I refuse to leave my cocoon. "What do you want?" I grumble, irritable and sleep-deprived.

His bony shoulders shrug and I nearly wince when I realize he's wearing one of Kiriyama's shifts. "Figured you might be hungry. Some man came by way, _way_ earlier- I'm talkin' before the ass crack of dawn- to drop off a loaf of sweet bread and a sort of cured meat thing. There was a dwarf with him and the dwarf gave me a jar of honey _specifically_ for you." A dark eyebrow arches and Julian puckers his lips out as he teases, "I didn't know you had a dwarf fetish."

I feel cold dread pool in my stomach. "What did the man look like? Not the dwarf but the human."

"Straight black hair, nice beard, kinda shifty eyes like he's expecting a knife in the back at any moment. He had a staff on his back and it had some golden woman on it with her tits hanging out." He squints. "So, obviously a mage or he has a gimp and needs a walking staff. But, y'know, _obviously_ a mage because he's a spry young thing who stinks of magic."

"Crap! And he _saw_ you?" I rake my fingers through my hair and moan, "Gosh, can't I have a freakin' break?"

_Next time Hawke sees me, I'm sure I'll get a passive-aggressive earful!_

"What's so bad abou-oh! _Oh_!" Those lips pull into a mischievous grin. "You don't have a dwarf fetish! You have a _mage_ fetish!"

Irritated, I slither out of my cocoon and stand. "It's not a _fetish_. Simply liking a person doesn't constitute a fetish. Mages are _people_ ," I finish by aggressively straightening out my- er, Varric's tunic.

"Well... He seemed nice," Julian muses, "super suspicious, but nice. I guess livin' in Kirkwall you gotta be on your toes, even if you aren't a mage." Those lean arms cross as the man huffs, "I almost got _mugged_ walking around the corner to save you! Just walking around the corner! You live in the damn ghetto, Mina."

_But my neighborhood isn't_ that _bad... Is it?_

Yeah, I know it's a pretty bad neighborhood if you're new, and you can't turn around without bumping into some dangerous people. Once, I didn't even leave my house for an entire day because some suspicious ne'er-do-wells were loitering about. Those little snakes had _cowls_! You know who wears a cowl? Troublemakers like me. But anyway, if you look like you belong or like you're a badass who shouldn't be messed with, people tend to leave you alone.

" _No_ ," I respond defensively. "Technically, it's the elves who live in the ghetto. You know, considering the Alienage is an _actual_ ghetto," I reply dryly.

"Really? I've never been. You'll have to take me some ti-" Julian freezes as his eyes drift from me to something behind me. When I raise a brow, he nearly shouts, "On the wall! That's me!"

I nearly snap my neck to look at where he's looking off to and my stomach flops. He's talking about the mural that had haunted my thoughts for quite some time. The one with the young man in the tent. The young man has a bit more meat on his bones than Julian and he looks far less haggard, but there's no denying that it's him. The man's face is angled down, so it's difficult to discern any key features, but his nose is prominent and long.

However, his long nose lacks the current bump that Julian's has, so this was painted from some pre-broken nose era, probably when Julian first arrived here in Thedas. The man's hair is almost pitch black and he shares the same deep, deep brown-bordering-on-black color in his eyes as Julian. The lips are the same as Julian's- pouty and almost pinched looking. This painting is of him. It's Julian. But _why_ is it him?

"Uhh…" I slowly look from the mural to Julian. "Yeah, looks like you. A cleaner version, but yeah. It's you."

Rolling his eyes at my jab, the intruder makes his way around the studio, putting his mitts all over everything like an annoying cat. Thin fingers dance across several canvases that are leaning against the walls, feeling the texture of the paint with callused fingertips, when he suddenly halts at the one long table near the door. It's crowded with dried up paints and ruined brushes, but Julian slowly plucks a small painting from the clutter.

I internally groan when I realize it's the stupid swimsuit one. He stares at the painting, face a blank slate, not betraying a single emotion. Lips move but no words come out, like he wants to say something but somehow he can't bring himself to. Honestly, if he's going to comment on that ugly swimsuit or make some gross observation, I'd prefer for him to remain speechless. I have absolutely no problem with this current situation.

_I swear, if he makes a distasteful comment, I'm feeding him his own tongue._

When he's silent for too long, I start to grow uncomfortable and I roll my eyes. "Okay, look, I know that suit is ugly, but-"

As if he was just punched, Julian suddenly stumbles and leans against the table, face pale. The sound of the wooden legs scraping against the floor rings in the air. Slowly, his eyes rise up to meet mine and my stomach clenches at the wild look in them. In a whirlwind he rounds on the table and begins flinging rubbish from it in an attempt to find something. Every single odd little painting and sketch that Bartlett made from scenes of my childhood, Julian picks them up and stares at each and every one of them for an eternity.

I don't make to go to him. The cacophony caused by his frantic movements frays my nerves. The pallor of his skin, that frenzied look in his eye, all serve to keep me away and tucked into my little corner with my blankets clutched to my chest. Fleetingly, I wonder if jumping out of the window is an option for me. The last time I jumped out of a window, I landed wrong and it felt like I had metal rods jammed into my shins. Isabela had to carry me home as I curled into myself like a pill-bug. So, no. Jumping out of the window isn't an option.

"It's _you_."

All plans to throw myself out of the window are put on ice. That statement is so thin, hollow, like it could blow away and out of the window at the slightest breeze in the air. It's such a soft whisper that I at first think it was borne completely from my imagination- honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if I've started hearing things at this point. But that voice is so different from the man's usually rambunctious tones that I couldn't have possibly fabricated it.

His back is to me, heaving, shuddering. There's a sweat stain building up in the middle of his back and at the base of his neck. He leans heavily against the table, almost like he might collapse. Labored breathing fills the room, makes the room feel so small and stuffy that I want to scream. I won't go to him. I can't go to him. Especially not when the air around him begins to shimmer like heat waves off of pavement during the middle of a summer day.

_Run!_

"He told me that He could take the painful memories away, if I wanted. He can be oddly merciful sometimes," Julian says suddenly, haltingly, and my thoughts flee me. "But... I didn't want to forget. Not everything, at least. I had been a coward and I didn't want to forget how far I had fallen. She took them, though. The mage, I mean. My summoner. She took the memories and for a long time I forgot."

I don't know how I manage it, but I force out the question, "Forgot what?"

" _Myself._ " Is his hollow response before he continues. "I remember now. I've remembered in my dreams. He helped me to remember in my dreams because He knew I wanted to. I thought it was a joke," Julian laughs bitterly, shoulders shaking, "just a terrible joke. His sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired, y'know? But He wasn't joking. I... wish He had only been joking. But it's you."

My voice sounds too high as I ask almost desperately, "What are you talking about?"

"I have a question, _Mina_ ," Julian seems to choke on my name as he begins to turn to me.

"Ye-Yeah?" I sound so breathless, frightened, as Julian rounds on me. He's across the room from me and yet I feel like he's far too close. Those dark eyes bore into me and in their depths I see an inconsolable pain. Visceral fear and sadness swirls in those deep brown eyes and a twinge of regret peeks through the veil. Those emotions send panic rushing through me. Why is he looking at me like that?

Lower lip quivers as he takes a cautious step forward, looking so unsure of himself as a shaky hand clutches desperately at the shift, trying to peel it from his damp skin as anxiety begins to settle into his nerves. Muscles twitch beneath his skin, fighting back the doubt that tries to still his movements. The man halts against the fear, closes his eyes, takes a breath, before looking at me again. The sincerity and insecurity are gone. It's all gone, replaced by that mask of flippancy and carelessness. A grin crawls lazily across his face. "You hungry?"

_Wait. What?_

"Ye-Yeah," I reply flatly, fingers aching from how I've been clinging to my blankets. The stiff joints in my fingers creak as I adjust my hold on the sheets and tilt my head at the man. "Go on down. I'll be right behind you."

"All righty!" Julian chirps.

When he's out of the room and I hear him trundling down the stairs, I nearly collapse against the wall, legs shaking like mad. Just what in the hell was that about? Did he recognize me? No, that's impossible. My heart still hammers in my chest, painful and straining. It's almost embarrassing how the stranger managed to unnerve me so easily with just a look and a few quiet words. After I've regained my composure, I head downstairs.

The shutters have been flung open to allow the morning light in. A sharp pain spears through my skull and I realize with a sigh that my lack of sleep is already catching up to me, promising me a wonderfully throbbing headache that will last through the day. What I wouldn't do for coffee… Julian moves around fluidly, setting plates of carefully sliced bread and cured meat on the table along with cups of water. The jar of honey sits in the middle of the table, a beacon of embarrassment that I steadfastly ignore.

When he hears my sigh, Julian sets to making me a cup of strong tea and I shove all thoughts of Hawke out of my mind. I'll admit it's a little odd how considerate this man is. With a murmur of thanks, I relax into my chair and pick at my food. Julian eats slowly. This is all so painfully domestic. Sipping my tea, I swish the perfumed liquid in my mouth while carefully examining my guest. What's this guy's angle? He says he has my brother roped into some plan of his, but what is that plan? And why does he want to hang around me and _teach_ me how to "be" Summoned?

Drumming my fingers against the table anxiously after a few minutes of silence, I purse my lips. "We need to talk."

Julian blinks, mouth full of bread, "Are you breaking up with me?"

I snort despite myself, "No. I just still have some questions for you. I know last night I ran out, but, I'd still really like to know why you and Kiriyama were hellbent on having Michael taken to Carrow's."

"Ah," Julian swallows loudly before taking a quick sip of his water, "I figured. Well, long story short: Your brother is a subtle killer."

"Uh, right, I love the kid but I'd hardly call him subtle," I mumble, trying not to adjust my still stiff arm as I become painfully aware of how the chair digs into my shoulder.

I'm awarded with a snort, "Tell me about it. Anyway, he's subtle when he's tame and close to mages."

I narrow my eyes at him. " _Tame_?"

Julian cracks a smile as he opens the jar of honey and dumps a spoonful of the sticky sweet stuff into my tea and stirs it around for me without asking. "Let me explain you a thing, sugar puff: _Michael_ saps life force, not just mana. His kind sucks mages dry because Alters require a lot of energy to- Well, to do this whole drainin' thing, he has to be near the mage." Thin fingers waggle in the air as if he's trying to conjure something. "Think of your brother like a humidifier: to get that nice damp air, you have to be in the vicinity of the device. In order for the mage to get drained, he has to be in the vicinity of the Alter's draining field, which is admittedly rather small."

_Such a flippant tone for something that sounds completely insane._

"Alter..." I stare into my cup of tea. "That's what my brother is. I remember that. Kiriyama made him sound terrifying."

"And he is. You've seen what he does to mages. He kills them without a second thought. It comes natural to him, like breathing." The man cups his chin and watches me critically. "He was supposed to do it to you too, y'know, not just your handler. You haven't been used to fulfill your purpose. He was supposed to wipe you out. A clean slate. Start anew. But He had a change of heart."

My brow furrows at this. "Who did? My brother?"

"Well," Julian gives me a condescending smile, "our _leader_ , our _true summoner_ , had a change of heart when you started listening, when you searched for _Him_. He wants you to keep looking, keep talking. He spoke and you listened. And you obeyed."

"Obeyed? Julian, honestly," I sigh and rub my temples in methodical circles, "I'm having a hard enough time as it is keeping up with these pronouns that you're throwing around all over the place. Can't you call this thing by some title or a name?" The sudden rush of heat into the man's cheeks makes my eyebrows pop up. "You _do_ know this creature's name, don't you? It's given you its name, right?"

Dark eyes refuse to meet mine. "Shut it."

_He doesn't know its name?_

"Wow. _Wow_." I lean forward, gawking at him in disbelief. "You sure do have a lot of faith in something that doesn't seem to have much faith in you at all, Jules."

"Quiet." He snaps, cheeks intensifying in their color, "I can't rightly listen to 'im. When He speaks I can only get fragments. So He doesn't waste His time on unimportant shit like names."

"Names are pretty important," I reply airily, fanning the flames of his embarrassment. "Let's call him... Hell, I'm not feeling all that creative. Just call him Not-Dragon." I sigh when he gives me a contemptuous frown. " _Not_ , for short, then, since he's _not_ a lot of things. Don't get all huffy with me when I could have easily called him something way less dignified. Now tell me, when have I obeyed this... thing?"

Julian scoffs indignantly, " _Thing_? You obeyed when you struck that mage across the face, girlie."

"I... Ha, _no,_ Julian. I mean, I-" My stomach churns and I slam back my tea in one shot just to keep the bile down.

_I obeyed._

He... The thing in my dream told me to remind Carrow that I belonged to it... and I did. I didn't even think twice, I just slapped the blond across the face. In fact, I was hardly even in control of myself, I didn't even have the strength to do such a thing and yet I _did it_. And how in the heck did Julian know that? Carrow was a mirage, borne from my head, something that no one else could possibly see. And Julian hadn't even been there when it happened.

Goosebumps spread across my arms as I catch the dark-eyed man staring at me with the most peculiar look on his face. He isn't smirking like usual, in fact he isn't even wearing any variation of the self-satisfied, shit-eating grin that I've come to expect from him. That almost cherubic face is just blank. I think I almost prefer him with all of his annoying expressions constantly flitting across his mask. This sober version of himself is disturbing at best.

"Yeah," he drawls, pouring me more tea to the point that my cup almost overflows, "now you remember."

Clearing my throat, I lean my face down to the cup on the table and take a tentative sip of my tea to bring it down from the brim. Julian laughs at this and I'm relieved to have eased the sudden tension with my obnoxious slurping. With the cup firmly in my grasp so that I have something to squeeze to death, I question, "So, Mike will kill Carrow and no one will even have to lift a finger? Seems too good to be true. Guess I can see why you two were so desperate to take my brother there..."

"It is, actually." A sharp look crosses Julian's face. "We need to find you another host. Forget the blond. I know you think you like him, but you don't. Well, you do, but... Ah, shit." A knuckle comes up to rub at his temple furiously. "He's your summoner and all that, I get it. But you'll get over him when he's gone, like a forgettable ex who was terrible in the sack. Hell, you've already been exposed to more blood mages, just pick one. One that won't give you too much trouble."

"Just pick one?" I snort disbelievingly. "What the hell are you going on about?"

Julian practically throws himself back into his chair as he looks at me like I'm the biggest idiot in the world. "Little Dermot's basically a surrogate mother who birthed you- his job is _done_. You can cut ties whenever you want so long as you got another mage on the rebound."

Julian just lets that statement hang in the air like it's some standalone comment that requires no explanation whatsoever. It makes me want to shake him. Pink lips are puckered out and the man gets up and dismisses himself to go and paw through Kiriyama's clothes in the armoire. For a while, all I can hear is him rummaging around, the sound of fabric sighing to the floor and buttons clicking together slowly pushing me to the edge.

Then he's wrenching the still sweaty shift off of his lithe form and I get a clear view of his scarred back. At first I'm shocked into silence that he'd just take off his shirt in front of me like I'm not even here, like we're at that comfortable level in our relationship already. But then I'm mostly struck dumb by the way the flesh on his back twists around claw marks and what looks like... teeth marks? The hell? Those are clearly bite marks from a _person_ on his sides.

_Focus on what he said! Not on his mangled back!_

"I'm sorry if I'm slow, but I'm gonna need you to explain that to me in excruciating detail," I simper as he wriggles into a plain gray tunic.

Pulling his long black hair out from the neckline of the tunic, Julian squints at me and snorts, "You and Stevie give Dermot way too much credit. He's replaceable."

It feels like I stare at him for a long time before asking, "So he can die and everyone will be okay? It's not like when a mage summons a demon and when that mage dies, the demon gets sent back to where it came from? Because I've seen that happen _a lot_."

"Yeah, kid. You're here to stay, unfortunately." Julian shrugs and plops back down onto his seat. "You already forget that your tie to your world got severed? Ain't no goin' back after that shit happens, kiddo."

I run my hand over my face and give the brunet a hard look. "How do you know this stuff?"

"He- Well, _Not_ tells me these things." Julian gives me a pointed look when he uses my name for the not-dragon-thing from my dreams. "He knows all about you, and me, and your boy, and Stevie. Hell, he even knows all about Dermy." Julian shoots me a wry look. "Our true summoner didn't like Dermy because that little blond had communed with demons before- even sold his own mother to a desire demon, the sick little fuck. But Not couldn't foresee anyone else getting a hand on his ancient knowledge, so he relented and gave Dermy what he asked for. Your sweet blond is pretty powerful, so Not figured, 'eh, why the fuck not?' I'm paraphrasing, of course, he doesn't really like our slang. Says it's vulgar and demeaning."

"Our slang," I parrot quizzically. "Is he- Is he talking to you right now?"

Brown eyes roll. "Yeah. He's always talking when _you're_ around. I think it's that he's trying to get through to you, but only my line is open and yours is busy."

"We aren't telephones. We're people."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, Dermy is powerful so Not figured the mage would be a suitable host for you and Stevie. You see, our kind need a lot of energy to keep going and mages pull energy from spirits in the Fade- it's the perfect setup! When it comes to our needs, Dermy has been pulling the energy directly from Not because _we_ can't. Now, Not doesn't really mind mages so it's nothing personal against Dermy, but people are unreliable: they wuss out, get greedy, get sloppy, die, and all that. So that loose end has to get cut off for Not's plans to be fruitful. Carrow got greedy and greedy doesn't get the job done. He's gotta go."

"And so _that's_ why you want Carrow dead. Not because he's killed dozens of people or that he wrecked my brother's life or even Kiriyama's life." My jaw clenches. "You want Carrow dead because he got in the way of your master's plans."

"Yup. Oh, and he's _our_ master."

"You're insane."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure..." I swallow hard when I realize Julian's looking at me like he wants to rip my head off, "I'm pretty sure that this thing that's been talking to you in your head is a demon. It's classic demon trickery. I've been around enough mages to hear the horror stories about people getting suckered into thinking a demon is their ally only to wind up as an abomination." All the while, I'm thinking of that "subtle" dream manipulation done by the demon. The self-loathing, the all-encompassing sadness that I felt in the Fade when I dared question the creature.

"He's not a demon," Julian barely grinds out from between clenched teeth.

I glower. "Julian."

"He's _not_. He's a god!"

_A god of lies, more like._

"Yeah, say that again but actually listen to yourself. Maybe you'll hear just how crazy you sound when you say that a god is talking to you in your head and that it wants you to follow through with an intricate plot to murder a blood mage. Listen to yourself say that you're some god's mouthpiece and tell me that you don't sound like the world's biggest jackass."

"I swear-"

"Let's _move on_." I cut him off with an almost animalistic snarl that catches us both off guard. Why am I getting so defensive? Oh, I know. Because this conversation is entering territory that I'm not comfortable exploring. I clear my throat uncomfortably under Julian's wary gaze. "Obviously we aren't going to agree about this and I don't want you shutting me out when I can probably squeeze more information out of you."

"You're pretty blunt, huh?"

"Sometimes. Okay, all the time." Fingernails scrape against my cup as I struggle between satisfying my curiosity and sticking with my desire to not be attacked by this psycho if I push the wrong buttons. My knee bounces up and down. Dammit, I have to ask. "So, tell me, Julian: When you and Kiri invited yourselves in the other night, Kiriyama told me that Carrow somehow duped you and now... I guess 'owns' you. Does Carrow control you?" I query, eyes not leaving his face for a second in case he lies.

"Strange that you'd ask that." Blunt fingernails dig at his chin contemplatively. "In short: No. What he did was a sorta 'reverse-bonding.' He repaired the tie to Not that my summoners had unwittingly broken when they tried to turn me into their unthinking thrall. Sometimes the mage handlers can get one of us totally under control by bonding and other times it's not so cut and dry. When the essence is removed it can cause some volatile reactions- can cause some of us to go crazy. The mages didn't realize that. The mages thought they knew everything but they knew absolutely nothing and passed on their wealth of nothing to our summoners!" Julian laughs.

"I don't really see how that's funny. All of their misconceptions about what we are is the whole reason why they continued to take people away from their families," I hiss.

Dark eyes roll exaggeratedly. "As it turns out, Summoned would only go crazy because the mage botched the job and cut the connection to Not when removing the essence. The silence is deafening when he stops talkin'. It's lonely and you forget who you're missing, what you're missing. You forget yourself and that's what the mages want: for you to forget who you are so they can mold you into the perfect little pet. But when he stops talking and you can't listen anymore..." The man stares into his empty cup for a while and just as I begin to think that he zoned out, he finishes, "The mages want so badly to right the wrong, to repair the connection, to end the madness, to end the murder."

Lips thin into a hard line as I survey him carefully. "And you murdered someone?"

A grin rips across his features. " _Someones_ , plural. My summoners. Got both those bitches good. It's a great feeling, you'll love it. Well," he winces, "it's real painful the first go around. After I killed the pretty one, I sorta purged. But after the old bitch, nothing happened."

"Purged?" I perk up at this, thinking back to the time I puked up my guts in front of my pirate friend after compelling Elin into killing himself. "You mean you threw up?"

"Well, yeah, and I threw up out of my eyes and ears, too. Like when they destroyed my essence, but like ten times worse." His round face scrunches up as he replays the memory. "Looked like I bathed in blood. It just happens if you overextend your magic or if you try to use magic when you don't have a connection to our true summoner to support ya. Anymore questions?"

_Yeah. Why did Hawke shock me and why have I felt the burning desire to rip apart mages?_

Fingertips dance across the scar at the tip of my nose. "Er, yeah."

A wicked grin pulls at his lips and Julian leans forward onto the table with his elbows. "Ooh, you look uncomfortable. I bet it's a good one!"

Julian seems to have a wealth of information at his fingertips with this demon whispering in his ear and so far what he's told me has filled in the little pieces that were left out from Mike's writing. So, who better to ask about the oddities of my existence? But what I'm about to ask feels strangely personal. He's right, I _am_ uncomfortable. This almost feels as awkward as when my Uncle Carl somehow got stuck giving me the sex talk. I guess my grandparents felt that he was more my contemporary and he knew the hip and happenin' lingo of the youth to appeal to me.

For nearly an entire week after the debacle that included lots of stuttering and dancing around questions, Uncle Carl had avoided me like I was a tax collector. Somehow I doubt Julian will avoid me, though, if this conversation takes an awkward turn- seeing as how he seems to enjoy hovering over me like a helicopter. He'd probably just make fun of me. But right now, I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic with him in this house after hearing all of this. I need some air. Clearing my throat, I stand and gesture toward the door, "How about we go outside? I'll take you to the Alienage, if you want."

His dark eyes brighten but then turn curious. "Sure! You'll ask me outside, though? Aren't you worried about eavesdroppers?"

"The elves tend to give humans a wide berth." I shrug as I dig around for fresh clothes. "We'll be fine."

* * *

A warm breeze tickles my nose and tugs at my violet cowl. The scent of damp earth perfumes the air. Shifting my weight uncomfortably, I watch as Julian accosts some poor elven man into giving him the rundown on _why_. Why is there an Alienage? Why the humongous tree? Why the strange markings on his face? Why the weird looks for asking such questions? Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I'm almost embarrassed for him, the oblivious moron. But when he begins to talk about the elven servants back in Val Royeaux, where he apparently lived for a few years, I power-walk over to put a stop to his ramblings.

"What's the big deal? I was just asking why the guy doesn't go work for some noble if the crime here is so high." Julian whines when I tug him along by his sleeve as the former Dalish blushes furiously, jaw clenched on his fury.

"While you may think that's a _grand_ plan, not many Dalish would take too kindly to the suggestion of entering into a life of servitude for some wealthy human." I throw him a dirty look when he tries to resist. "Stop squirming, dammit! You're just lucky that these people have seen me around Merrill enough to not shank you for proposing such a thing since you're in _my_ company."

"The elves in Val Royeaux are treated nicely, though," Julian protests.

"They're still servants and as such they're treated like second-class citizens. Equality is the goal. Even _I_ know that."

Brown eyes squint at me curiously. "So you treat elves like you treat humans?"

"Yup. Same way I also treat dwarves and Qunari, too: With great suspicion while still exuding charm." Grinning, I come to a halt at the base of the Alienage tree. "If you have a ton of questions, you can always look at the plaque here. They have these things for you tourists."

"I'm not a tourist," Julian huffs. "And anyway, I got so caught up talking to that guy with those wicked face tattoos that I forgot about you and your questions. So, cough 'em up. What do you want to ask?"

_Dammit._

We stand in front of the tree, side by side, as the silence drags on. Seeing that we aren't leaving any time soon, a few children have come out to play and the adults have decided to continue on with their daily routine as usual; peddling their wares and gossiping about such-and-such and so-and-so going off to try and join the Dalish up on Sundermount while they still can, along with other interesting but useless tidbits of information. When the silence has dragged on for far too long, however, Julian nudges my shoulder.

"Ask. I swear I won't make fun of you or nothin'," the brunet insists. But when I don't respond, he decides to make conversation. "Why do you wear that black stuff around your eyes?" He gestures animatedly, making circular motions around his eyes with his index fingers.

Brow furrows in confusion and I find myself speaking, "The kohl? Psh! It's so I look badass, obviously."

He chuckles, "That is true. You do look pretty intimidatin' with that hood, that big ol' sword, and that belt with all your magic tricks in it." An uncomfortable and slightly reproachful look settles onto his features. "The tight pants kinda mess with that image though. Ever thought of wearing pants that actually, y'know, _fit_? As is, you're practically askin' people to stare at your ass, girlie."

"My ass is a great distraction, thank you very much." I scoff, "And who are you to tell me how to dress? Have _you_ ever thought of taking a bath? You're like a walking dustbin."

A smile pulls at his lips despite my biting remark. "Now that you're all loosened up, wanna ask me that question?"

_This mother- Might as well just go all in._

"Have you ever been shocked by a mage?" I scramble to clarify when he gives me a funny look, "Not like being attacked. Just sorta... _zapped_ from physical contact? Like static electricity times one hundred. And then you kinda want to _maybe_ take their magic? I'm not too sure about the last part," I snap defensively when he raises his eyebrows at me. "I don't quite know what the feeling is. It _feels_ like rage at times but... Dammit, the best way I can describe it is a kind of hunger."

"Huh, yeah. That happened to me after I ran off from my summoners," Julian muses as he turns his attention onto the plaque at the base of the tree, rubbing at his nose. "And that's actually a pretty good description: _hunger_. It's normal after using your ability and not being in any close physical proximity to your mage. You get a little drained and need a little pick-me-up after 'cause you can't make your own magic. A quick little burst of mana does the trick but sometimes you get to thinkin' that you _need_ more so you try to _take_ more. Guess you stopped yourself." He shrugs at me, the shadows of leaves falling across his features in an odd patchwork. "Good on ya. Woulda been a rookie mistake if you'd knocked him out. You wouldn't have _killed_ him, mind, just… like an Alter's draining without the whole death or vegetative state thing 'cause _we_ don't need to take so much."

_This is a horrible joke._

"I guess I'm glad to hear it's 'normal'." With a breathless sigh, I glance at him. "So you shocked a mage, too?" To distract myself, I pull my waterskin off my belt and open it. "Well, what did you do? I mean, did you ask if the mage felt it too or anything? I haven't asked because I don't think he did."

"She didn't feel it." His reply is abrupt and he looks guarded, forcing himself to look like he's completely fixated on the plaque.

My eyebrows rise. "How do you know?" I ask, taking a deep pull from my waterskin, a wonderful relief in the mild morning heat.

He wears a blasé mask, looking up to now stare at the verdant foliage overhead. "Well, I don't think a lady would have sex with a man if he had just shocked her to hell and back."

Water comes shooting out of my nose like a fountain as I sputter, "Ow! Wait. _What_?" The elf manning the food stall on the other side of the tree gives me a disapproving look for my peculiar method of watering the Alienage's central feature and I blush hotly.

Lips quirk and Julian finally looks over and narrows his eyes at me. "You asked what I did about it and I answered: I had sex with her. Are you a little prude? You sure are gettin' all red like a cherry."

_This is taking a turn to a place that I don't want to go. Not with this nut. Hell no._

" _Excuse me_?" My voice is grating from nearly choking to death, "Is that a normal response? You get shocked and then you look for some fun between the sheets? Are you some kind of sicko pervert or something?"

"We had been traveling together for a while and _she_ was interested in _me_ , so it's not like I jumped her or anything," he scoffs, indignant. "And anyway, since you got shocked too, what did _you_ do, Little Miss Perfect?"

"I nearly broke his wrist!" I hiss, livid at his insinuation.

"Oh." Julian frowns. "That's not nearly as hot."

I actually laugh. Something about him is growing on me and I find myself saying, "Well, if it helps your fantasy, I did kiss him later."

"Ha!" Julian throws his head back and barks out a loud, eardrum shattering laugh that leaves me cringing away and makes a few people look over at us curiously. "Well, kissing is basically having sex."

_Did he just-? Oh my gosh!_

"No, it isn't! Where did you come from, the 1800's? Are you going to tell me that people can't close-dance or they'll get pregnant?"

"Did he stick his tongue down your throat?" A grin twists his features and I know he's just screwing with me now as he sings, "'Cause if he did, that's _basically_ sex, just way, way further north."

Fire must be in my veins for my face to burn this much. If I thought that I was the world's biggest ass for finding someone's weakness and running with it, I don't have anything on Julian. Through narrowed eyes I watch him as I aggressively hook my waterskin back onto my belt. "I can't believe you just said that. Heaven help you if you have kids because you'll give them the worst sex talk in the history of sex talks. They'll leave thinking you can get pregnant from holding hands."

Lips twitch. "You can if you do it right."

"Just... Enough." I hold up my hand and turn away from him. "I can feel my brain cells dying every time you open your mouth."

"That's just rude. You asked me a question and I answered."

"Thanks _so_ much for answering," I grumble, running my hand over my cowl in aggravation. This man is certainly obnoxious and it's unfortunate that _he's_ my Summoned guidance counselor. Fingers toy with the dagger on my belt distractedly. "It's good to know that I'm not about to go on a killing spree or turn into some sort of serial killer who only targets mages. I'm sure the Templars would have a field-day with that."

"Yup! So..." the Palm drawls, giving me the side-eye, "do you plan on hopping into bed with that dashing mage of yours?"

I squint at him, honestly wondering if he's being serious right now. "Not your business, Jules."

"Maybe that dwarf with the chest hair, then?"

"Stop it. He's like a _brother_ to me so don't put that mental image in my head unless you want me to projectile vomit all over your face to get you to shut up. And stop acting as if you're privy to the details of my personal life!" I fume and try not to blush when a passing elf gawks at me for my rather bizarre threat toward Julian. When the bald elf hastens away toward a food stall, Julian pops his eyebrows up at me as if to ask if my verbal abuse is necessary. It is.

"I'll ignore that last part. Anyway, good choice with the mage. That guy is too pretty for his own good, though."

I release an aggravated sigh, realizing that the small man won't relent, "Right? I feel like a brute compared to him. But can we _please_ change the subject, for the love of all that's holy?"

"Fine, fine." Julian gives me a strange little smile, rocking back on his heels. "Anyway, Dermy's gonna hate it when he finds out that you're pining after some other mage. What's his name again? The beard-mage with his facial hair magic?"

"His name is Hawke," I barely grind out, feeling like some pathetic pre-teen getting the third degree from her parents about having a little crush. "Besides, why would Carrow care about that? What, would he see Hawke as a rival because he shocked me?" I deflect, desperate to change the subject.

"Of course Dermy would see Hawke as a rival. _That_ mage earned your loyalty, your lust, your everything, and Carrow merely imposed his rule on you. He fears you'll turn on him in a heartbeat if you could. And you _can_. You can shirk his bonds and tie yourself to another stronger blood mage, Mina."

I feel sick at the thought. Us Summoned can just latch ourselves onto some blood mage so that we can stick around in this world- because we need their connection to the Fade so they can play courier for the demon. The idea of leeching energy off of a mage feels so very wrong and this is coming from the woman who wouldn't even use her neighbor's unprotected wi-fi for fear of the crippling guilt (and also because I was such a spaz that I thought they could see everything that I did on the internet if I _did_ use their wi-fi). But to be dependent on someone _forever_?

_Will you choose death over life? Or will you cling to self-preservation at the cost of all else?_

My throat feels uncomfortably tight at that thought. A few forced coughs serve to loosen the muscle so I can hiss out, "No. I won't."

"What?"

Squirming under his suddenly hostile gaze, I snap, "I'm not binding myself to someone, especially not to a friend. If Carrow dies and my continued existence is up in the air because I've yet to latch onto some other blood mage like a leech, then so be it. I'm fine with that."

"You'd rather _die_ than tie yourself to another blood mage?" The laugh that comes tumbling from his lips holds no humor in it, "Are you really that loyal to that scarecrow?"

"No. I'm not loyal to him in the slightest." My face tightens as I struggle to keep my voice low and calm in the sleepy courtyard, "But if I have to choose between a somewhat normal life in which I can't risk using my damnable ability for fear of my body simply giving out, or living a life where my entire existence hinges on someone else, you can bet your ass that I'm going with the former."

Grubby fingers run through inky waves frantically, tugging at the long locks almost to the point of ripping them out. "Why do you insist on making _everything_ difficult? You have a chance to live and yet you won't take it 'cause you don't think you deserve it?" His eyes are wild again, feral, and I know that I'm going to have to take my leave of him soon before this conversation escalates any further.

"It's not that I think I don't _deserve_ it. It's that I think I deserve _better_." I purse my lips. "If you and Kiriyama want to sink your hooks into some unsuspecting mage and have to be stuck with them forever, that's your deal. Just don't expect me to go with the flow. Peer pressure has never been my bag."

I feel dizzy as I promptly turn on my heel and make to leave the courtyard. The clacking of my heels against the steps leading out of the Alienage seems to fluctuate from obnoxiously loud to strangely subdued as my ears begin to feel like they're stuffed with cotton and my head begins to pound. Cotton makes way to allow the sound of my own heavy, labored breathing to fill my ears. The world seems to tilt sharply and my hip connects with a sturdy stone wall as I lean on it for support. It feels as cold as ice through my thin tunic. Definitely getting a bruise from that. Knees shake as I collapse to sit on the steps and compose myself.

My sincerest hope is that Julian realizes that this is my not so subtle, totally dramatic way of ending the conversation. Obviously we aren't on the same wavelength, though, because he's storming after me with hellfire in his eyes and taking a couple of quick steps up towards me until I put a hand on the dagger in my belt. Oak eyes follow my hand and a patronizing smile curls his lips, hands raising up as if to insinuate that I'm the one overreacting in this situation. He can go to hell. You don't walk up to someone like that if you aren't looking for trouble.

That head of shaggy hair cocks to the side. "Think about what you just said, girlie. It's not really up to you when you think about it." I'm about to ask what he's going on about when he chirps, "Any other places you'd like to go to? Maybe get some supplies for your jobs?"

I blink rapidly. "My- My _jobs_?"

"Yeah, your beard-mage was hoping that you would visit him for a job opportunity- and now I'm thinkin' maybe a little _alone time_ , now that I know the extent of your relationship- and I told him that you're game for anything so long as I get to tag along for the ride."

_This little shit._

"You accepted a job offer for me? Are you out of your damn mind? No, don't answer that. Of course you are!"

"Hey, don't be mean," Julian pouts. "He wants you to meet him at his new house in Hightown for the details. The _old Amell estate_ , I think? They moved in this morning, apparently. I'd go along with you but I don't want to be there if things get steamy."

"Good lord. Things aren't going to get steamy!" I insist, almost desperate to convince this guy.

"Ah, ah! I don't need to know, remember? But what I _do_ need to know is that you're just gonna go straight there."

Dark eyes fix on me pointedly and I frown. I know what he's getting at without him needing to say it, "I'm not fool enough to think that my brother won't hurt me if I go to him. So don't worry, I won't go running off to him the second you look away."

"I know." Julian winks. "See you later, kid."

He saunters up the steps by me and out of the Alienage, leaving that weirdly spicy cinnamon musk of his in the air. More than just a bit irritated, I rest my elbows on my knees and glare forward at nothing. Julian accepted a job for me. In what universe does Julian get to say what I do and don't do? But I suppose this is what I need: Business as usual. I need to throw myself into work, head first, to keep my mind off of... everything, really. Sure, it's not healthy and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who wishes to remain sane, but it's the best coping strategy that I've come up with since I got here.

Once I'm positive that I won't collapse again like a wimp (Seriously. Do I need to invest in a fainting couch and smelling salts?), I stand and head off to the chopping block- I mean Hightown. Gosh, _Hightown_? Hawke is truly a fool to uproot his family and tuck them away into Hightown. Sure it's prettier there and the stench of death and illness doesn't quite reach it, but it's basically Thug City come nightfall. Before I'm out of Lowtown, I stop by the market and pick up a little housewarming gift. When I make it into Hightown, however, I'm immediately reminded of why I hate the place when I see a hooded man skulking in the shadows.

Thank goodness the massive Mabari hound is always around to protect Leandra and-Wait, is Gamlen moving in, too? From what I had gathered from Carver Hawke's loose drunken lips, Gamlen had hidden the little fact that Leandra inherited everything under the sun from their deceased parents, so I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say: No. Gamlen isn't moving into the old Amell estate. Good thing, too. The guy's a creep. But he'll be a safer creep nestled in Lowtown. A hell of a lot safer than his noblewoman sister. You couldn't pay me to live in Hightown. It's a pretty little trap.

Massive estates loom over me with their pale, polished visages. Some of them are draped in ivy like they're donning verdant lace, while others proudly wave regal flags embroidered with family crests. After inquiring about the location of the old Amell estate and receiving mixed reactions of indifference and indignation, I'm pointed in the direction of a building that's tucked away, almost out of sight. Two massive columns ensconce the sturdy wooden door and on those columns are two impressive shields embossed with what I assume is the Hawke/Amell family crest: two birds, red as blood. A very, very pretty trap, indeed.

_She-it. Now I'm feeling even more self-conscious about my place!_

After I slap on an impassive mask, I saunter up to the door. Honestly, I have to try not to yank down a vine of ivy or cut down one of the two humongous trees with Slicer so I can take one home and prop it up against the facade of my house to liven up the place. Damn, I want plants at home! Well, I wouldn't even be able to keep _weeds_ alive since I've always had a black thumb, but still. How petty would that be if I screwed with the Hawkes' foliage on my first visit? I highly doubt my pathetic little present would make up for the loss of a pretty plant.

"Mina? What are you doing here?"

That low voices catches me off guard as I halt in front of the ornate door, hand outstretched to knock. Tilting my head toward the mage as he quickly makes his way to me from the top of the staircase leading from the lower reaches of Hightown, I can't help but raise my eyebrows, " _You_ invited _me_."

Dark eyebrows furrow. "I did invite you, yes. I went by to check on you but-"

"Where's your mother?" I interrupt hastily so as to avoid having to hear about the stranger in my house. "Is she inside? The last time I saw her, I think I had her frightened." I mentally facepalm when the mage's golden eyes raze my flesh.

_If you're trying to avoid any conversation about Julian, why bring_ that _up, idiot?_

"She informed me of the predicament you had been in last night when she went to collect a few more things from Uncle Gamlen." Hawke crosses his arms, a typical frown on his face, and I can't help but notice the way the sleeves of his robes shift against his toned arms, which makes me want to kick myself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Toeing the ground, I shrug innocently. "What was there to tell? It all got itself sorted out. I'm perfectly fine."

"So you say."

_Aloof! Be aloof! Dammit be a total troll as usual, just stop being awkward!_

Unfortunately, awkward is proven to be my specialty as I sing, "Well, obviously I was okay. _You'd_ know that better than anyone else." I smirk, looking at the mage from beneath my lashes. The way his cheeks turn a pretty pink makes me give myself a mental high-five. "You know that I was _much_ better than okay. Right, Hawke?"

"Mina, honestly. Must you always be so indelicate about such things?" The mage admonishes, but it brings me great pleasure to see that he doesn't look like he means it in the slightest.

"All right, grandpa. I'll ease up with the flirting." I roll my eyes and stifle a snort at the horrified look on his face at my chosen term of endearment.

"Did you honestly just call me your _grandfather_?"

"Well, you certainly enjoy lecturing me and you're very mature and old-fashioned. Sometimes I swear you're not seven years older than me but _seventy_ years my senior instead."

The golem frowns at me disapprovingly. "I'd prefer if you didn't call me that ever again. The thought is quite disturbing."

"What, that's not your particular kink?" I try not to snigger when his eyes widen. Gesturing elegantly toward the door, I allow the mage to step past me and open the door to the estate. He promptly ushers me in before him and I'm immediately on edge.

"Mina," the mage sighs from behind me.

Forcing my nerves down, I chuckle, "Yeah, Hawke, I know I annoy you."

A shadow passes over me as my employer steps inside and closes the door. It's a good thing that there are so many windows in this place or I'd be left to fumble around since I don't know the layout of this joint. This place is massive and... _stony_. It's rather fitting for the golem to live in a house made of solid stone. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that the family color is red, since it looks like some interior decorator went nuts and threw red tapestries, drapes, and rugs all over the place. It's pretty, don't get me wrong. But it could use a little more color and a little less pomp. However, the stuffiness and the stoniness is _so_ Hawke.

_This is like Hawke in building form!_

As I'm having this revelation, I practically forget the mage's presence until he suddenly states, "You don't annoy me, you make me nervous."

Whirling around on him, I smother a scream at his close proximity and turn it into an incredulous and choked laugh, "Ha! What? I make you nervous?" Golden eyes simmer and I practically feel my skin start to peel. Hastily, I clarify, "You could roast me like a suckling pig and _I_ make _you_ nervous?"

"You're difficult to talk to," Hawke replies firmly.

I spread my arms out and look around as if I'm addressing an audience. "I'm like the easiest person to talk to in the entire world! I talk to strangers all the time, so I know it's true!"

"That's just how I feel."

"Okay, okay," I flap my hands, "I won't give you a hard time anymore. Well, unless you want me to give you a _hard time_ , if you know what I mean."

" _Mina,_ " Hawke repeats and I quickly realize that this is his chosen way of chastising me, using my own name against me like I'm Rumpelstiltskin or something.

"Okay, I'm sorry. You just make it _so_ easy." I grin bashfully. "But it is very reassuring."

He tilts his dark head at me. "What is?"

"That you have the power to roast me like a suckling pig and yet you haven't. So clearly that means I don't bother you too much, even with all my teasing." With a smirk, I lean up against the wall in the foyer, next to an elegant bench.

Watching me carefully, the mage walks over to the bench and carefully sits down. After a moment, he looks up and rumbles, "Would you prefer for me to roast you?"

_Did Hawke just make a joke? Can he even_ do _that?_

I grin. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We haven't quite reached that level of adventurousness in the bedroom, honey." After I say it, a lump lodges itself in my throat when those golden eyes darken. These teasing words carry a different weight in the confines of this foyer compared to when I fire them off in the company of others. I suddenly want to make myself busy. "Uh, y'all got settled in pretty quickly," I observe lamely.

Cloaked shoulders rise and fall in an indifferent shrug. "We didn't have much in the way of personal belongings since we lost everything in Lothering. Also, mother was out picking proper furnishings before the ink on the deed had even dried. Bodahn and his boy Sandal- from the Deep Roads expedition, if you recall- are going to be living here." At my inquisitive look, the mage sighs, "Bodahn insisted on becoming my steward and I must confess that it would help me rest easy to know that a trustworthy man such as himself will be here when I'm out, so that mother isn't alone in this estate."

"Aw. I didn't take you for a mama's boy, Hawke." When he gives me a blank look, I continue with an uneasy cough, "Eh-hem. Yeah. So... Where is everyone?"

"Bodahn and Sandal have yet to arrive and mother is at the Chantry. She asked me to meet her in the market afterward, to pick out linens." The dark-haired mage chuckles softly to himself as he looks over into the massive estate, "Truthfully, she's much better suited to this lifestyle than I am."

"Well, she certainly is every bit the noblewoman that her name suggests. But really, how are you adjusting to life as a noble, _my lord_?"

When I look down at my companion, I'm met with an unamused frown. Oh, for crying out loud, it's like this guy is made of- Ah. Well, I've already established that Garrett Hawke is the first human golem to ever exist in Kirkwall. To ease the tension that I so easily created, I unceremoniously dump my leather knapsack onto the floor (I swear, I never travel without the thing. Too bad my first one was destroyed...) and rummage through it for the housewarming gift. All the while I can feel Hawke's piercing gaze on me, the bastard.

"What are you doing?"

"Ta-da!" I straighten up and hand him the gift.

His dark brows knit together as he slowly takes the short, muddy brown mass of wax from me. "Why... Why did you just give me a candle?"

I'm immediately offended that he doesn't seem to appreciate my crappy gift. "Hey, you ungrateful urchin, aren't candles coveted treasures to you neanderthals without electri-?" I pinch the bridge of my nose when he glares daggers at me. "It's a housewarming gift. I see you have a fireplace that's big enough to cremate bodies in, so it's a little unnecessary. Anyway, it smells like spices so I thought that was pretty cool."

Garrett turns his fiery gaze from me to the fat candle in his hands. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you."

"No problem." I stare at the wall ahead of me before blurting, "You have a job for me?"

I swear I can practically feel his eyes burn holes into me when he states rather coldly, "Ah, yes. I trust your house guest informed you?"

_He said "house guest" the way most people say "unwanted pest."_

Jaw clenches with tension. "Yup. Sure did."

The sigh of his fine black cloak draws my attention as the mage stands and beckons for me to follow him further into the estate. I follow eagerly, wanting to see the rest of this place. I'm not disappointed, to tell the truth. Imposing golden statues? Check. A ceiling that seems to go on forever? Check. Massive, totally unnecessary chandelier? Check. The estate certainly lives up to the name. Shoulders shrug to adjust my pack and I watch Hawke gently place the candle down on a table covered in letters. His gloved hands sift through the piles for a moment before plucking a small scroll from the clutter.

"I need you to retrieve a flower called Harlot's Blush from the Wounded Coast and some Dalish ink from the Dalish camp, of course. It's a tedious task, I'll admit, but it must be done." Hawke turns on his heel to face me and extends the scroll towards me. "After your last fiasco on Sundermount, I'm sending you with Anders and Fenris for support."

I take the scroll with a scowl. "Fiasco? Pft, _hardly_. I got the job done and- Wait." My eyes widen up at the mage. "Anders _and_ Fenris?"

_No. I just heard wrong. Hawke can't be that vindictive!_

There's a cruel type of humor simmering in those molten gold eyes. "Yes, Anders and Fenris."

"No," I laugh disbelievingly. Hawke can't be that irritated that I have yet another stranger living under my roof. But when my employer simply stares at me with that stony expression of his instead of laughing and admitting that this is all just a cruel joke, I go pale. "No. _No_. No, Hawke!"

"Why ever not, Mina?"

Lips thin into a hard line at the faux innocence in his voice. "I will not play babysitter for those two."

The intimidating mage frowns. "Babysitter? They're both capable fighters, I assure you. You've seen them in battle, yourself."

"You know damn well what I mean, Hawke. They're grown-ass men and yet they bicker like an old, obnoxious married couple." When I realize that he isn't going to relent, I decide to be a bitch and get a jab in while I can. "I swear, they should just kiss already. It worked for us."

Hawke's reaction is immediate and I have to school my expression into one of cool indifference. The mage's once bored, rather bland yet obviously amused (at my expense) expression turns into one of pure embarrassment. Pale cheeks burn a vivid crimson to rival the tapestries on the walls. Oh, not so tough now that I'm not the one being made a fool of, huh? Golden eyes widen in shock before narrowing at me dangerously, as if wondering if I really had the gall to say what I just said. On the inside, I'm dying of laughter.

"Mina, you-"

"Mina, Mina, Mina." I roll my eyes, feigning exasperation. "It's as if every one of your sentences starts that way and ends in some rebuke. You're quite the lecturer aren't you, Hawke? I feel as though I should pay you tuition. Ah, _wait_ ," I tap my chin and begin to pace in front of him, "but if I do that, it will completely change the nature of our relationship." The color in his cheeks is beginning to abate and I can't let that happen, no sir.

"What do you mean?"

"Hm," I muse, "well, if I started _paying_ you, I'd surely get more than simple kissing. Maybe some over-the-clothes action? You're definitely too straitlaced to go any further than that for coin, though."

_Aaaand the color is back one hundred fold. Fantastic!_

"A-Are you implying that you would treat me like a prostitute?" Hawke stammers, obviously completely gobsmacked by the idea.

_Wait. I might have just offended him... Abort!_

With an airy laugh, I wave the rigid man off, "No, no! You completely misunderstood me! You're _hilarious_ , Hawke!"

He's donning his trademark mask of stone as he states, "About last night. I just wanted to tell you that I didn't indulge Varric's insatiable curiosity. And you must also know that I will tell no one of what transpired."

_What the-? Oh, God. Now we're going to talk about_ that _?_

It takes all of my determination to fight back a blush and come off flippant, "Oh? Well thanks for preserving my dignity, Hawke. Nice to know that you're not the type to kiss and tell."

"I would never," the apostate replies hastily, the embodiment of seriousness.

"Ha, well..." I can't rightly think of anything to say that won't make me sound like a fool, so I'm ready for a dragon to crash through the ceiling and take me when I playfully punch my mage comrade's shoulder and mumble, "That's-uh. Thanks. Right on."

Garrett's lips twitch. "I should go. Mother still needs my help with the dreaded linens and you have a job to do." Golden eyes narrow at me marginally. "You _will_ perform this job for me, won't you?"

I throw my arms in the air and head for the door. "Of course!"

Behind me, he chuckles softly to himself, "Then I will see you later, Mina."

"Of course!" I turn and toss him a forced grin over my shoulder, stopping a few feet away from the door.

Golden eyes narrow suspiciously as he halts as well. "I _will_ see you later, won't I?"

"O-Of _course_!" I scoff at the insinuation that I'll just disappear... again.

That damn mage crosses his arms and frowns down at me. "Are you certain? And don't you dare say 'of course' again."

I spin around to face him and smile grimly. "You will. I promise. Unless I kill myself to escape Anders' and Fenris' bickering."

My snark is rewarded with a rumbling laugh, "Right. I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Mina."

Then Garrett Hawke leans forward and presses a firm kiss to my forehead. I freeze. I'm completely taken aback by how normal he makes it seem- like he kisses me goodbye all the time, like we've been doing this for _years_ and our first kiss wasn't just hours ago. How can he be so comfortable with me when I still flounder around, completely out of my element when we have heart-to-hearts and other intimate moments? Probably because my emotional growth is stunted. Yeah, that sounds about right.

With a frown, I prod his chest and step back. "You're getting awfully familiar there, Hawke. Pretty soon you'll be tucking me into bed at night."

"That _is_ my plan, yes."

Dead silence.

"Those are _my_ lines!" I blush furiously once the shock has worn off. "You're not supposed to be the suave one! You're the emotionally handicapped, awkwardly blushing and stuttering one!"

"Are you certain?" The mage squints at me. "Because it would appear that that's _your_ role, Mina."

I gawk at his sudden moxie. "There will be no role reversals on my watch, Hawke. Now, stop being so damn smooth. It's... weird."

"Weird?" He takes a step forward and I quickly take several back, my back pressing against the door behind me.

"Yes. Weird." I loudly gulp down air as if doing so will fortify my backbone. "I know what I said. You don't have to repeat it. It's not like I just said some random thi-"

His lips move carefully around words that drip with honey as he gently caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. "Hush. You mustn't stress yourself so, Mina."

_This jerk turned this around on me so damn fast! How the hell did that happen?_

"Hawke," I warn and he stares. " _Garrett,_ " I press and his eyes glimmer.

"What is it?" Hawke asks, closing the distance between us to loom over me, his forearm resting on the door above my head. I think I might die.

_Holy shit... I've gotta get outta here._

"I said no role reversals. Gosh, did Isabela get to you or something? That witch sure does like spreading my weaknesses around..." My voice is barely a whisper, paper-thin and wavering against the pounding of my heart.

Slowly, Garrett lowers his face down. Lips graze my ear, making my eyes flutter shut, causing me to lean into him. Breath, hot and inviting, ghosts across my neck as he murmurs, "Isabela does talk about you often and she happened to mention that you are flirtatious but surprisingly shy, I will admit... However, correct me if I'm wrong, it would appear that you quite like _role reversals_." Pulling away to look me in the eye, the mage smirks. " _Am_ I wrong?"

_I'll kill Isabela…_

My eyes nearly bug out. "Are you _wrong_?" I repeat and he tilts his head to the side, as if waiting for my answer to that baited question. "Well," I laugh breathlessly, building up my nerve against his overwhelming heat and lyrium spice cologne, "I'd love to stay and chat about the finer details of your short-comings, but I have to go and do your chores with Thing One and Thing Two. So... Bye!" And I'm out of the estate, sprinting like I just robbed the place.


	39. Possum Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to quickly thank you for reading this far. I really appreciate it, considering you could be reading something loads better than this. Thank you for your time and thank you for giving this story a chance.

**30\. Possum Kings**

Warm, salty air grazes across my exposed flesh, stuffing my lungs with every nearly suffocating breath I take and dampening my skin to a frustrating stickiness. It looks as though a storm is brewing across the sea as the clouds churn and the water roils. Looking up overhead, directly above me, the sky is the palest blue with just a smattering of cottony clouds. My cowl is nearly ripped from my head and sent sailing behind me when a strong gale crashes into me. The storm is headed this way.

_Looks like we're on a bit of a time crunch to find that flower._

Finding the Dalish ink was quick and easy. But it would honestly figure that I get sent off to the Coast when the weather is bad. If I were doing this solo, I wouldn't really have much of a problem with it. I'd find a cave to camp out in and head back to Kirkwall once I found the flower and that would be the end of it. Easy peasy. I've done a bit of solo work on the Coast before. Of course, it took _ages_ for Isabela to even consider handing me those coveted letters, but when she did they were always quick little fetch jobs like this one.

Thinking of Isabela makes my stomach squirm. I haven't told her a lot of things that I've been meaning to tell her. The woman is practically my soulmate and yet I'm keeping massive, game changing secrets from her like I don't trust her. I _do_ trust the pirate... to a certain extent. Obviously she can't hold her tongue where some of my secrets are concerned, especially with Hawke and Varric, but I think she wouldn't blab about me being some manipulative monster with an equally frightening half-brother.

Tugging on my cowl, I glare at a loose pebble like it's the cause of all my self-inflicted problems. I know _I_ kept these secrets from everyone, but... The harsh reality is that secrets are the key to survival in this place. Like Is always told me, don't show your hand. If anyone in Kirkwall got even a whiff of the truth about what I am, I'd be a goner- hanging from the gallows like a pretty little ornament. I'm not stupid. I know how xenophobic the Chantry is and the Chantry has Kirkwall in quite a choke-hold.

_Pity parties are so out of style, Mina._

Hooking my thumbs into my belt, I kick the pebble out into the shimmering sea and close my eyes to better hear the soft little _plunk!_ that resounds afterward. Though I hate water, the Coast has always been a calming place for me. I think it's because Isabela used to take me here to get wasted when we smuggled together. Thunder rumbles and I wish she was here now. But I'm not with her, no sir. I'm _babysitting_ , so I don't plan on getting trapped on the Coast during a storm. Especially not with-

"I gotta admit, I'm actually pretty excited to see the people you work with."

Upper lip twitches with barely contained displeasure. "Uh-huh."

"Ya know, who you hang out with says a lot about you as a person," my hyper companion rattles on from his place too close to my side, "really, _a lot_."

"Yeah."

"I bet they're badass." Julian says almost wistfully, like he's thinking about his favorite action heroes and not some regular men.

"Yup." I pop the "p," something that usually annoys the heck out of me but I can't help but do it in my irritation.

"Tall, fierce warriors who wear honor like a... badge of honor."

"Mmm."

"Okay, what the hell?" The short man gripes, grabbing my shoulder and whirling me around to face his fury. His thin yet round face is pinched in frustration, obviously upset with being ignored, "You aren't even listenin' to me!"

"Because I don't want you here, Julian!" The Palm's face twists in shock and hurt. A short burst of remorse haunts me and I sigh, completely exasperated, "Sorry. That wasn't nice."

"You bet your ass that wasn't nice!" My companion flushes. "I'm just comin' along to help _you_. You could stand to be a bit more gracious, kid."

I snort, straightening out my rumpled clothes to keep from decking the guy where he stands, " _Why_? You're here to help because your master said so?"

"Yes. _Because he said so,_ " Julian replies in a pitchy, mocking tone that I think is supposed to sound like me. "No! Why can't I wanna help you just 'cause I want to?"

I give him a flat look. " _Do_ you want to help me just 'cause?"

Sallow cheeks flush even darker and I watch from hooded eyes as the man struggles to explain himself, "Well, yes and no. I mean-"

"And I've heard enough, thanks," I snap and brush his hand from my shoulder like I'm brushing off lint.

Julian is being really annoying. The fact that he's acting like he's clinging on to me like he's superglued to me is more than just a bit disconcerting. I still don't know what his angle is since he's so damn hard to read. Sure, he's been useful in telling me tidbits about the Summoned, but there's something about him that's… strange. And yeah, I'm still pissed that he had the nerve to accept a job for me like he speaks for me.

"Listen..." Julian's voice is soft and somber, prompting me, fool that I am, to look over at him. "I have to protect ya."

The guffaw of pure shock and disdain that comes out of me is almost embarrassing, "No, you don't! You don't even _know_ me!"

I don't miss the guilty look that flashes across Julian's face for maybe a millisecond. Something about his expression is unsettling and I find myself looking away in discomfort, rubbing my arms uneasily. After what feels like forever, I throw what I hope to be a casual glance at the iridescent green dagger hooked into Julian's ratty belt. It's the color of a summer forest in a fog. Blinking slowly, I tilt my head and realize that the shade of green changes depending on the angle it's viewed at.

"Nice dagger. I hope you can do some damage with it," I drawl in a pseudo-casual tone.

"What?" The man's brow furrows as he puts his hand on the blade's hilt hastily, almost like he's trying to hide it from my view. "This one ain't for battle."

Brow quirks. " _Okay_?"

We fall back into a tense silence. The late afternoon heat soaks through my violet cowl and I deeply regret wearing the dark color as the sun's intense rays beat down on me. I'm sweating bullets by the time Anders and Fenris get their bickering butts down to the Wounded Coast. Why were Julian and I at the Coast already? Because I got a head-start on the damn job (clearly, since I procured Hawke's Dalish ink already) in the hopes that I might be able to shake Julian. No dice.

From dull eyes I watch the mage and the warrior make their way to us. They practically have a mile of space between them but still somehow manage to look like two irritated kids crammed in a backseat together for a three-hour car ride with no A/C. Beside me, Julian says something under his breath that sounds a lot like "Great, _more_ brats!" but I don't bother to ask him to speak up. My two companions come to a halt before us and Fenris is the first to speak.

"I apologize for the wait, Mina. We ran into some demons." The surly elf drags his piercing emerald gaze to his magical pal before returning his gaze to mine. "We should move on."

The blond shoots him a scowl. "Why are you looking at me like that? It's not as if _I'm_ the one who summoned them!"

Rolling my neck, I sigh, "We're really doing this already? Why are you two going on like it's totally normal for demons to be skulking about, anyway?" I rest my hands on my hips and ask, "Were there any mages around? This could get tricky if apostates are running around summoning demons to butcher us on our flower hunt."

Anders shakes his head, golden strands of hair falling into his brown eyes. "None. They were just... there."

_Weird. I freakin' hate demons!_

"Huh." I frown. "You sure?" When the blond mage nods, my frown deepens. "Well, I didn't think the Free Marches was that kind of place."

Julian turns his big brown eyes to me. "What kinda place?"

I clear my throat and do my best impersonation of a nature documentary voice over, "The Free Marches: a beautiful and harsh place with a landscape that ranges from craggy coastlines to rolling plains. And on the coasts you can find the free-range demon, galloping along the shoreline and frolicking in the cold, salty water. So beautiful, so wild, so _majestic_."

"You're an idiot," Julian sighs.

Fenris squints at me. "What?"

I huff and throw my hands in the air in exasperation, "If there's one thing about this place that I can safely say annoys the everloving hell out of me, it's that _no one_ understands my pop culture references. They're totally wasted on you lot and they're _brilliant_. You people don't even realize how hilarious I really am!"

Anders smirks even as he stiffly adjusts the straps of his traveling pack. "Even if we understood, I doubt we'd find you _hilarious_."

" _Pop culture_?" Fenris still looks puzzled, green eyes practically piercing through me.

I toss him a tight-lipped smile. "I'll be here all week."

"Besides," Anders continues on with his serious and actually relevant point, "it isn't unheard of for demons to appear from the Fade on their own. Usually if strong magic is used it will leave a scar in the Veil that eventually wears down enough for something to come through." A shrug of his feathery mantle assures me that this isn't really as big of a deal as I'm making it out to be.

"That's... concerning." I grimace.

"We should split up to cover more ground," Fenris interrupts the riveting conversation and three pairs of eyes lock onto him.

I goggle at the tall elf. "Hawke said-"

"Hawke isn't here and I agree with Fenris, shockingly enough," Anders says coolly, losing all of his good nature with one look at the white-haired elf.

_The hate is strong with this one._

"I want to go with Mina! I don't even know you two hooligans." Julian pouts and I feel my eye twitch.

"We _just_ met up!" I talk over Julian's protests, "Are you all seriously wanting to split up right from the start? This is supposed to be a group job!"

"Yes, a group job when it doesn't need to be." Fenris gives me a hard look that I'm in no hurry to argue with. "We're looking for a flower while Hawke plays spy for the Viscount. This is hardly a priority mission worthy of three-" emerald eyes flicker over Julian, "four people."

Son of a gun. You know, I don't know _why_ I thought I was going to be the leader of this mission when I've never been the leader of anything. For whatever reason, I got the dumb idea that if I kept Fenris and Anders away from each other and if I kept them happy, this would be a quick and painless job. I didn't exactly expect them to team up to kick my pedestal out from under me. And Julian isn't making matters any better.

"Oh, for the love of-" I pause to glance up at the darkening sky. "We don't have time for this, guys. But you know what? I'm feeling generous. Sure, we'll split up. However," I cross my arms with a grim smile, "we'll go in pairs. Safety in numbers and all that. I'll go with-" Big brown eyes blink at me and I awkwardly turn my back on Julian, "Uh…"

It's really not all that difficult to figure out how we're going to split up, what with Anders mouthing "No! No!" at me from behind the elf's back and Fenris looking at me like he'll rip out my spleen if I sort him in Anders' house. However, Julian is giving me the world's biggest puppy eyes and he's doing a bit of pouty lip action that _almost_ makes me think twice about wanting to sort him with Fenris. Why Fenris? Because if I'm lucky, Fenris will kill him. Plus, I don't need Anders getting smart and realizing that Julian is Summoned.

Fenris looks from my uncomfortable expression to Julian. "I'll go with Mina."

_What?_

" _What_?" Julian echoes my incredulous thought before narrowing his eyes. "You want _me_ to protect the _mage_?"

"I don't need to be protected," Anders snaps. "Especially not by some stranger."

_Good lord. Julian already has a hate club forming._

A pounding headache settles in the front of my skull. "Julian, you're with Anders."

"But-!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and murmur in a surprisingly even tone, "If you backtalk me again, I'm going to scream. You and Anders take the inland area and Fenris and I will check around the coastline. We'll meet back here in two hours. All right? All right. Let's go."

I don't wait for a response as I stalk off to nowhere in particular. Well, I'm headed down the shoreline, keeping an eye out for anything that looks like it might be useful, so I _do_ have _some_ sort of goal in mind. I honestly don't even know what Harlot's Blush looks like, to tell the truth. This makes me groan and come to a sudden halt. Behind me, I hear Fenris' light footsteps as he catches up. Looking to my side, I give the elf a bland smile and he seems to decipher it. He must have experience traveling with morons.

"We're looking for a long-stemmed flower with a single blue blossom."

My face scrunches. "Blue? I thought it would be pink or red."

"Because of the name?" Fenris continues walking and I trot up to his side. "I won't pretend to understand the logic behind naming plants."

"If there's any at all?" I snort, glancing at the stormy gray sky.

_Stop looking at the sky or it'll rain for sure!_

I'm rewarded with a short rumble of laughter and we fall silent and begin combing through the coast. After an hour of getting sand in my boots, I'm thoroughly irritated and ready to call it quits. However, Fenris doesn't know me all that well and I don't want him thinking I'm a quitter. Besides, I'm getting Kiriyama-esque vibes from him: that "no nonsense," "let's get the job done in a timely manner" attitude. He's probably expecting at least a modicum of professionalism from me. But then I remember that I _did_ eat dirt in front of him before…

I suppose that ship already sailed a long time ago, so I can be comfortable and let my whiny self loose. My elven companion doesn't seem to mind my bickering too much, even agreeing with me when I say things like "This is bullshit!" and other such nonsense. When I run out of things to complain about, we have a rather bizarre one-sided conversation about my family. On one occasion, Fenris showed interest in my uncle who left the caravan to be a guard in Denerim. He said it was a noble and tough decision, considering how my family was struggling to survive and my uncle was basically attached to my grandma's hip.

Sure I felt a bit bad about further fabricating my backstory, but it had a grain of truth to it at least. My uncle Carl _did_ leave my grandparents' welfare in my hands so he could go join the HPD. Both of my grandparents were retired by the time Carlos was a full-fledged officer and I was still in high school. When it came time to find a college to go to (because my grandma would've skinned me alive if I _didn't_ go), I needed to find a place in the city. I moved out to give my grandpa some semblance of independence since he wasn't taking retirement all that well.

_Let's stop thinking about this._

"Time's almost up," I mumble, trying not to sound too bummed about not having anything to show Hawke, "so we might want to head back to the meeting place. Hopefully Anders and Julian had better luck."

Fenris straightens himself up after having moved a bit of driftwood from a promising looking patch of greenery that only had a spotting of tiny purple flowers. "I wouldn't put too much faith in the mage. This is tedious work." A strange expression crosses his strong features as he sidles up beside me. "Do you miss it?"

Shooting him a curious look as we head down a sandy path, I ask, "Miss what?"

"Working as a smuggler. I'm sure you enjoyed it more than work like this."

This small talk is odd and I find myself clearing my throat delicately. "Oh. Well, people call me a smuggler but I was more in the business of keeping people alive than sneaking stuff in and out of the city. It's just more simple to say 'smuggler' than 'guard' because then people wrongly assume that I'm saying I'm part of _the_ Guard." I grin. "And nothing keeps people from hiring you quite like saying you're a Guard. Besides, this is safe work."

_This is Hawke's Keep-Mina-Out-Of-Trouble work. Nice._

A dark brow rises. "But you _did_ smuggle?"

"Eh, a few times," my shoulders come up indifferently at the elf's hairsplitting, "so I guess one could argue that I was a smuggler, if mostly by association." I frown at the memory of the empty lyrium cache and rub a knuckle over my scar. "But I was never all that good. Bit too careless and loud. Isabela is a different story, though. She's all stealth."

"That she is." My elven companion replies, sounding oddly... smug?

Brow furrows as I drawl, " _Yeah_. Um, what were you saying earlier about Hawke being a spy? It's been stuck in my head ever since you said it, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

There's no beating around the bush with Fenris. His deep green eyes stare straight ahead as he says acerbically, "Hawke has earned much favor with the Viscount- he saved the Viscount's son and gained the Arishok's interest over the years. Add that with the success of the Deep Roads expedition and Hawke has become arguably one of the most influential people in Kirkwall seemingly overnight. This has put Hawke in a precarious position as intermediary between the Arishok and Viscount, which the Viscount is looking to exploit, no doubt."

"Exploit?" I feel my stomach flip.

"The Qunari are not welcome in Kirkwall."

I tut, "Obviously. But my brief encounters with them has led me to believe that _they_ don't want to be in Kirkwall all that much, either. Not that I blame them."

"Which begs the question: Why stay?" Green pierces me for a split second as the warrior flicks his gaze down at me before returning it to our path. "The Viscount wants Hawke to unravel the mystery behind the Arishok's motives and I believe he also wants Hawke to squash any potential threats. The man is a coward."

"Who is a coward?" Squinting my eyes I chuckle dryly, "Certainly not Hawke."

Fenris' head of shaggy white hair bobs. "Certainly not Hawke. The Viscount is spineless, he isn't a true leader."

Folding my arms behind my head, I let out a low whistle. "Well, he's a _politician_. What did you expect, darling? Strapping, valiant men and women don't preside over cities. Hell, they rarely rule over kingdoms. Only the slimy snakes make it to the top and they use the strong like tools to solidify their place in the world. _Politics_. Honestly, I doubt the Viscount can even carry a sword, he looks so frail."

"His frailty has led Kirkwall to ruin."

"Kirkwall hasn't been led to ruin just yet, Fenris. Give it a few more years," I joke.

Emerald eyes stare down at me, not a hint of mirth in their depths. "In a few years-"

A crash of thunder nearly shatters my eardrums as I practically smack Fenris in the face with my efforts to slap my hands over my ears. The white-haired glowstick doesn't seem to mind my flailing or even notice it when the sky cracks open to nearly drown us in rain. The sand beneath our feet turns into a thick, unforgiving mud and we struggle to find our footing. A strong hand grips my upper arm and drags me off somewhere and I trip off after the elf without much complaint.

Suddenly the rain stops and I realize it's because I've been ushered into a smelly little cave. Blinking rapidly, my eyes adjust to take in the shelter that's stuffed with weeds and bones. Wait, bones? Well, damn. Shifting my weight to my left foot, I fight back a shiver and pluck at my soaked clothes. Standing at the mouth of the cave, Fenris stares out at the storm. His tall figure nearly takes up all of the available space and I cough to alert him to my presence at his elbow. The warrior moves to the side, giving me room.

Looking out, I watch the green waves crash and froth onto the beach. "Oh, this is just p-p-perfect!" I wince at my stutter and rub some warmth into my arms. "I didn't expect the apocalypse to hit just yet."

"At least we found shelter," Fenris sighs, thankfully not laughing at me as he presses his back to the cave wall opposite me. "We'll have to wait for the rain to abate."

"Great." I watch the brooding elf carefully. "At least you aren't stuck with Anders, though. Silver lining."

My companion chuckles and looks at me, "Silver lining."

Lightning strikes nearby, just down the coastline, and it's almost blinding. The thunder that ensues is nearly deafening. With a sigh I joke lamely, "If we try to meet up with the others now, we might get struck and die... _But_ we might get struck and get superpowers instead. You game?"

The elf stares and I slowly inch down the cave wall. With joints already stiff from fatigue, I tiredly sit down. I don't really care about getting my breeches dirty since I already waded through what felt like quicksand, but it _does_ bug me when moisture begins to seep through my clothes. Silver lining: At least _I'm_ not stuck with Julian. The shameless lunatic must be giving Anders hell right now and I honestly feel for the blond mage. Leaning back against the cave wall, I nod off to the sounds of the storm.

* * *

The air is still and frigid. When I sit up, chilled to the bone, that's when I begin to realize that it shouldn't be quite this cold on the Coast this time of the year. Looking to my side, I see Fenris is in a deep, comfortable sleep- not taking notice of the freezing temperature in the slightest. I'm surprised that he's asleep, actually... Leaning back against the dank cave wall, I look off toward the sky and almost swear. Red skies hang overhead like blood-soaked cotton. This is a dream.

" _He's doing it again._ "

I jump at the alien voice that sounds like it's being gurgled up from water and I get up on my knees, looking around wildly for the source. A few scans of the craggy landscape and I realize that Fenris and I are all alone. It's just me, him, and the weird clouds. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I fall back onto my butt and sigh. I thought I was done with these dreams. Oh, but who am I kidding? Of course I'm not! But at least I'm no longer playing _Legend of the Hidden Temple_ up in the mountains.

" _How do you know, brother?_ "

I jolt and internally berate myself for getting spooked again. The first speaker sounded irritated, tired, and oddly patronizing while the second sounded wizened and gentle. They're both obviously male and definitely strangers. This isn't a memory like in all of my previous dreams. Or if it is, it isn't _my_ memory. These men don't sound like they're from Ferelden, Orlais, or the Marches. I don't know what they sound like, really.

" _You know how. It's the only reason you people even keep me around._ "

It doesn't take long for me to realize that the voices are coming from the beach. They sound odd, almost like they're speaking from an old speaker box at a fast food drive-thru. Standing, I cast a still sleeping Fenris a cautious look and hesitantly make my way down to the waterline. Sand crunches beneath my boots until I halt at the placid green water. Breath stills in my chest until there's suddenly a ripple across the water's surface and bubbles come frothing up.

" _We do not keep you, brother. We are one, undivided, in our_ -"

" _I know…_ "

" _Please, then, tell me. Without a prophecy from your lips, we cannot act. Tell me, Brother Ferdinand._ "

The water goes still again and a strange sense of dread turns my stomach to lead. That name echoes over and over again, like _someone_ wants me to remember it. Ferdinand, Ferdinand, Ferdinand. It burns itself into my brain like a branding iron and I feel as though this is a target. _He's_ my target. _Ferdinand_ , _Ferdinand_ , _Ferdinand_. My entire world seems to revolve around what damning thing this Ferdinand will say. What can he possibly say that will sign his execution?

The water boils and churns madly, sloshing up onto the beach, crashing over my boots. I remain still. I wait. The water is far from placid now. A raging storm swirls the clouds overhead and darkens the sky. Lightning streaks and thunder roars. In the blink of an eye, the water is up to my thighs and a wave slams into me. I remain still. I wait. My heart is in my throat but I don't feel fear. I have to hear it. I have to hear him speak those words so I'll _know_.

" _His children walk Thedas._ "

With that, the tinny voice fades away in a distant echo, the water recedes, and the clouds part. I'm left shaking and soaked. Something in me... My heart hammers in my chest, fueled by adrenaline, but it's not fear that grips me. It's anger. It's the same anger I felt when that bastard Elin tried to kill yet another one of my friends, it's the fury I felt when Matthias attacked me, it's the hatred that burned inside when I learned that some cowards had tried to mug my brother. It's primal. It's me but it's not.

Breath comes out a mere wisp as I choke, "Ferdinand? Why tell _me_ that?" I realize with a jolt that I'm asking the monster from my dreams this, as if it can hear me. As if I want it to hear me.

"Mina! What are you doing?"

I whirl around at the familiar voice, or try to, anyway. It's strange how the familiarity shocks me more than the strangeness, almost like it frightens me. When I move, my movements are weirdly slowed and I realize that I'm waist-deep in the sea with Fenris staring at me from the beach like I have three heads. It's a struggle to not enter full-on panic mode. How the heck would I be able to get Fenris to rescue me from waist-deep water without looking like a complete tool, anyway?

By the time I slosh my way back to the beach (which takes an embarrassing amount of time thanks to my phobia), Fenris already has my pack ready for me as well as what looks to be a question on his frowning lips. I change in the back of the cave slowly as I mull over the contents of my dream and contemplate my apparently new problem of sleepwalking. I mean, who the hell sleepwalks into the _sea_? I think I need to visit Aveline and get some shackles to lock myself to my bed. Or I could borrow Isabela's.

_Thank goodness the storm stopped or I could've been swept away!_

Sitting heavily across from Fenris at the little campfire he made at the mouth of the cave, I begin to fiddle with one of my daggers and frown when I realize it's rather dull. Usually I keep up with weapon maintenance much better than this. I've certainly been distracted enough to slack off in that department, but it's inexcusable. What if I got in a fight? I'd have better luck defending myself with a wooden spoon! As if trying to find some less awkward segue, Fenris tosses me his whetstone and waits until I appreciatively begin sharpening my dagger before asking, "What happened?"

I hum and slowly run the whetstone along the edge of the blade. "What do you mean?" I ask nonchalantly.

"I saw you." I can feel green eyes staring intently. "You were asleep one moment and the next you suddenly sat up and just walked off. I feared you might have kept walking until you drowned yourself. I thought you were afraid of water?"

Pausing my methodical movements to glance up incredulously, I scoff, "Jeez, does _everyone_ know that?"

The elven warrior shifts uncomfortably. "Isabela talks about you often."

_What's his deal with Isabela?_

Catching on to his discomfort, I skirt around his statement. "Do you have enough supplies to keep going?" I glance out at the dark sky. "The storm stopped but it could rain again at any moment."

Fenris gives me a bored look. "I've been on the run before. I know how to pack, Mina."

With a huff, I stuff his whetstone into his pack and freeze at the many neatly rolled bundles crammed in the tiny space. "I can see that. Damn, it's like you put an entire store in there! Do you have a chamber pot, too?"

The white-haired elf shoos me away and tugs the bag closer to himself. "Stop it. I put everything in carefully, I don't need you ruining it."

"Well _excuse_ me, princess."

Gosh, I can only wish to be as efficient at packing bags as that elf. I'm just too damn lazy to try, really. Standing, I pop my back and head back to the coastline after telling Fenris that I'm going to take one last look at the coast for the flower before calling it quits. My mind is elsewhere, however. I can't think about that stupid flower when my dream plagues my mind. I try to figure out what the not-dragon's angle is. As I get further from the cave, I freeze when I spot someone.

Clearly it's a man sitting on the beach like it wasn't just pouring rain an hour ago. He doesn't seem to care that his cloak is spotted with wet sand or that his breeches are soaked. An alarm bell goes off in my head but I can't figure out why. I blame it on the plain, clean-cut steel staff strapped to the stranger's back. It's oddly uniform looking like its model is a dime a dozen. It's so different from Anders' dragon-looking staff, or Hawke's naked lady, and it's especially different from Merrill's gnarled wooden staff.

Really, I don't want anything to do with a random mage and hell will freeze over before I let Fenris see an apostate lounging about like a free man (the _gall_!). Rubbing the back of my neck uncomfortably, I'm about to back off when I accidentally kick a small stone at the stranger as I try to change course. He flinches when the little bit of sediment connects with his thigh and I cringe as if I'm the one who just got pegged with a pebble out of nowhere.

_Well, there goes my secret escape._

"Whoops! Sorry." I apologize lamely as I take a few steps closer. "Er... Excuse me, ser?" I smile hesitantly at the sickly looking young man with his pockmarked cheeks as he slowly turns his head toward me. "Um... Do you perhaps know where I can find a flower called Harlot's Blush? I heard it's here on the Coast, but my companion and I have been searching for hours with no luck."

Bulbous blue eyes glaze over for a moment before they clear into an unsettling intensity. A nasal voice floats out from between large pale lips, "I am afraid not."

_Hold the phone._

His voice. _That_ voice. Eyelids flutter shut for a moment as I let that voice flow over me. I roll it around like a fine wine in my mouth, savoring the adenoidal tone. In my mind I hear that wizened, modulated voice accompanying this man's words. The serenity is shocked away as if by some violent electric jolt, and I find my eyes snapping open to meet the stranger's. For a second I think he looks frightened, but then pure contempt masks over the fear and he doesn't look like a trapped, wounded animal anymore.

My mouth is hot and dry but it's not uncomfortable. I realize that it's because my adrenaline is pumping like I'm in the middle of battle. Some dark little voice in the back of my mind tells me that it's because I _should_ be in battle. Right now. With _him_. Lips creak from a smile I didn't even know was on my face. It's a forced, sugary sweet smile that could send anyone straight into a diabetic coma. Oddly enough, the look in the stranger's eyes goes from contemptuous to downright hostile. My smile falters at this strange turn of events. "Oh, all right." Heartbeat accelerates and I take a shaky step back as I say breathlessly, "Well, thanks anywa-"

"One moment, if it please you." With careful movements, the man stands and turns toward me fully. I'm not even breathing. My body wants to move to slash his throat, but before I can shake some sense into myself he's grabbing me by my shoulders just as he says, "In my dreams I saw a storm off the coast and an eye, bleeding and shriveled, tossed on the rocks like a useless, dull blade. Then waves reared up and washed it away."

"Interesting story?" I smile tightly, trying to fight back the bizarre and over the top instinct to rip the man's hands from my shoulders and plunge a dagger into his skull over and over and over again. I feel dizzy.

"You see," he continues, snapping me from my daze, chapped lips moving almost imperceptibly, "weapons must be tended to lest they become nothing more than a pretty but useless ornament. Some weapons require a lot of time, patience, and the utmost care. Some require all of that and more: blood, sacrifice, _life_. With all of that effort put into them, they become invaluable. One might say they are a _godsend-_ the embodiment of perfection." Thunder rumbles in the distance but the stranger doesn't even bat an eye. "I, however, would venture that anything that requires the extinguishing of natural life in order to flourish is _unnatural._ "

"What exactly are you getting at?" I snap, clamping my hand down on the stranger's right arm, giving it a warning squeeze.

Those blank blue eyes don't even blink, his tone accusatory, " _You are unnatural._ Your kind only desecrate all that is most holy and natural and you will always destroy what the Maker wishes to be saved. You are not of the Maker, so you cannot appreciate his creation. No... You are _that one's_ futile attempt at walking among man once more. You are _that one's_ damned child." The stranger's gaze turns almost bored. "However, she wants you. Even after all she has lost and all she stands to lose by having your kind at her side, she wants you and I'll always give my love what she desires."

I don't know when I started grimacing.

"Mina!"

I whip my head around just in time to see Fenris bounding down the beach toward us. I'm about to tell him to back off for the mage's sake when something rams into my chest and I'm sent flying back and crashing to the ground. Gasping, I try to get air to my lungs. My chest aches and I look down to find a hole has been burned in my top and my chainmail is exposed and smoking. That mage bastard knocked me down with a fireball! Legs shake like mad as I try to stand only to find myself sailing through the air again and landing on rocks.

 _Why must_ every _hostile mage blast my ass?_

Ears ring, pain lances through my body at all the points where the rocks dig into my flesh. It's murder to pick myself up from that bed of stone and when I finally do, it's all I can do to keep from crying out when I find that I have to rip a sharp, angular stone from out of my side. Blood eagerly oozes out the second the offending rock is pulled out. Taking a breath, I struggle to ready myself to fight by Fenris' side. With my blood on fire from the peculiar thrill of a good fight, I toss Fenris a smirk filled with bravado and launch into battle.

The elven warrior is a streak of white and ethereal blue, tattoos glowing as he attacks with stunning and precise brute force. Honestly, I almost feel a bit inadequate since I'm not nearly as physically strong as him. However, I'm faster than my companion- not by much, but it keeps me from getting hit as often. With every blasted fireball that scorches the earth and every branching of electricity that comes shooting out of the mage's blunted fingertips, my wound throbs painfully as I narrowly avoid them all.

Really regretting entering the fray, to tell the truth. My more cowardly side wishes I had just played possum on the rocks and let Fenris deal with this clown, since I'm obviously only a hindrance, but my annoying noble side froths at the mouth just at the idea. This psycho brunet knows about me as a Summoned, so he's _my_ problem and not Fenris'. And how does this guy know about Summoned? Who the hell _is_ he? Curiosity wants me to keep this guy alive if I can help it, but when he nearly obliterates Fenris with a fireball, I don't think I'll have that option.

" _Fenhedis_!"

_I feel ya, buddy._

Fighting this mage is proving to be a pain-and-a-half. It's difficult to get near him to attack when he's constantly summoning walls of flame that burn so hot they turn the sand to glass. Fenris got one really great stab in and the mage has had his defenses on point ever since. Right now, I desperately wish Varric was here to put a bolt right between this sucker's eyes. With every lunge or thrown dagger, I'm growing more and more enraged. And judging by Fenris' speaking in tongues, he is too.

Why are mages such a pain to fight? Physically, they're typically much weaker than other fighters but their blows are devastating. They're usually not too hard to handle but _this one_ is tenacious in the worst way possible. I wish he'd stop chugging lyrium like Gatorade, too. I'm readying myself to do something reckless and stupid (like climbing on some rocks when the mage is distracted and leaping on him like a spider monkey) when the apostate suddenly halts his assault, turns tail, and runs.

 _After all that... he's_ leaving _?_

"He's retreating." Fenris pants, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow and frowning, "That was... unexpectedly difficult."

My breathing is heavy, haggard, as I put my Lord away to free my hands so I can clutch onto the oozing wound in my side. Just like so many times before, I find that my temper is quickly getting out of my hands. Heart pounding in my throat, I growl, "That cowardly piece of trash…"

Beside me, Fenris shifts his weight almost uncomfortably. "Are you all right?"

Rage boils through my veins to a near deafening roar. I have to clench my hands into fists to keep them from shaking so much. What's gotten into me lately? I've always been a bit of a hothead since I was kid and it's been enough of a problem that it has landed me in a few tough spots (like being murdered, for example), but I've never been _violent_. Childish, vindictive, and kind of an asshole? Yes. Murderous, violent, and bloodthirsty? No. _Never._ At least... Not before I came to this place.

I unclench my hands. "Yeah. I'm good." Glancing at my comrade, I ask halfheartedly, "You?"

"Yes," Fenris grunts before putting his weapon away and trudging down the beach. My elven companion seems to be a bit chaffed at having to let the apostate go, but it's not as though either of us were much of a match to begin with. One frustrated glance from the elf is all it takes for me to realize that he's not going after the mage for _my_ sake. As if on cue, my wound throbs angrily. Jaw clenches down on venomous words and I'm too busy trying to stave off my shame to notice something barreling over toward me.

"Guess what we found?" An energetic little pest asks in a sing-songy voice before a blue flower is shoved under my nose. I take it after the man-child eagerly insists about ten times. When I ask where he found it, Julian tugs me by the elbow toward the path back to Kirkwall and chatters, "Let's head home and I'll tell ya _all_ about it!"

Anders trails behind us sluggishly, watching Julian like a parent who has thoroughly given up on trying to keep their hyperactive kid in line, and I can honestly say I feel his pain if Julian was like this the _whole time_ they were flower hunting. Fenris is up ahead of us all, presumably to act as a guard. Next to me, Julian goes on and on about how _he_ found the flower after single-handedly butchering "the big guys."

I can only assume, based on Anders' exasperated expression, that Julian's making about half of his story up and that he and Anders had the misfortune of running into the Tal-Vashoth- those guys who unsubscribed from _Qun Living Quarterly_. Isabela never got within spitting distance of them, so I can only assume they're tougher than your average highwaymen. When he's done rambling, Julian begins staring at Fenris' gauntlets and excuses himself to go and inquire about them. He'll probably get one of those gauntlets shoved into his chest cavity, so I tell him to behave.

"Well, that solves that," I state matter-of-factly and gesture for Anders to take the plant once the mage matches my stride. "Mind handing this off to Hawke?"

"Why? You were the heroic leader of this expedition, after all, and you _are_ his favorite person..." Anders trails off with a hint of a smirk and I already know what he's getting at without him needing to elaborate. Damn gossip. Instead of being a flustered little school girl, I let my sarcastic side out for a walk.

"Oh, _was_ I? I hadn't noticed after you and Fenris pulled the rug out from under me."

Seeing that I'll only talk business, Anders rolls his eyes. "Yes. Hawke _wanted_ you to lead this one. Remember?" The blond mage pushes the flower into my hands with a patient smile. However, that smile falters as the expert healer notices how I'm ever so slightly hunched forward and I internally damn him and his hawk eyes. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" Comes Julian's voice from further up the trail and before I know it he's right next to me again. I almost want to scream.

"It's nothing," I grunt as I attempt to shake the two men off by walking (more like limping) faster. "I just want to get home and get some rest."

_And I also want to figure out that dream and the psycho on the beach._

"Were you two attacked?" Anders presses and my upper lip twitches.

"If you must know, yes. By an _apostate_."

That shuts the mage up faster than any threat and I feel a bit of guilt bleed into my conscience at the way I had spat out the word "apostate." My sour mood doesn't deter Julian, however. In fact, I think it piques his curiosity even more since he has a very Fenris-esque vendetta against mages in general. While Anders walks in the awkward middle-ground between us and Fenris, Julian loiters back in the invalid section with me and asks all sorts of questions about the mage. His main concern, however, is:

"Did you kill him?"

"No." I bite out, "We couldn't."

" _We_?" The man's face scrunches up as he throws a bewildered look at Fenris' back. "You mean to tell me you and ol' Q-Tip couldn't get the jump on _one_ little mage? Boy was I wrong about your friends bein' capable!"

Glaring at the rocky ground beneath my feet, I hiss under my breath, "He wasn't just any mage, okay? Something about him was off. I... was no match for him." For some reason, I can't help but leave out the tidbit where the weirdo knew about Summoned. I almost miss the way Julian goes rigid beside me. Sending a suspicious look his way, I ask, "What's your deal?"

"Nothin'. It's..." He averts his gaze, brown eyes looking everywhere but at me. After a moment's hesitation, he looks at me with a plastered on smile and asks, "You sure you don't need that wound looked at? Pretty Boy's a pretty good healer! I nicked my arm in our scrap with the cowmen and he patched me up real good."

From up ahead I hear Anders' long-suffering sigh the moment Julian's pet name for him leaves his lips. Watching Julian intently, I guardedly place my hand on my side and reply slowly, "No. I'm good, thanks." The brunet bobs his head once before striding up to walk next to Anders, who seems to moderately enjoy the strange man's company. I watch as the brunet talks animatedly with the less enthusiastic blond. My eyes narrow. I guess we're both keeping secrets from each other.

_He knows something._


	40. Taste of Disaster

**31\. Taste of Disaster**

Have you ever been in one of those wretched moods where you just don't want to be touched? I can hardly even stand to listen to or look at anyone, much less abide Julian's constant bumping of my elbow every time he sees something even mildly amusing- and the man finds humor in  _everything_. Fenris had the right idea when he slithered away the moment we breathed the musty Kirkwall air, a hasty goodbye falling from his lips. I almost didn't notice when he left, too caught up in thoughts of dream dragons and beach mages.

"So, you're a healer and your clinic is in Nighttown, eh?"

"For the fourth time, it's  _Darktown_."

"Hear that, Mina? Huh? You hear the man?" A pointy elbow knocks mine for maybe the fifteenth time and I clench my jaw before locking eyes with the brunet. He grins, eyes sparkling the way they do when he's about to have a joke at someone's expense. "He's a  _doctor_. Everyone wants to marry a doctor!"

From Julian's other side, I see Anders' eyes widen. " _Marry_?"

I sigh and look dead ahead, "Christ."

I don't know how much longer I can refrain from slapping Julian upside the head. The second I see an opening, which occurs when Anders gives Julian an awkward explanation about how he's not quite the marrying type, I slip away and head off to Hightown. I ignore the stares and shifty glances, already well aware of the fact that I have a blast of red decorating my bone-white top. People probably assume I offed someone, what with me being a generally suspicious person who obviously doesn't belong in this part of town.

By the time I make it to the Hawke estate, the aches have firmly set in and I'm sure that if I lift my shirt I'll look like a week-old banana that's been chucked down the stairs. I feel like a damn old lady who can't keep up with the kids these days! Hell, I should probably retire! With a groan, I knock on the door to the estate and prepare to throw the flower and ink at the first person to answer the door before dashing off home. Hit and run. Hopping on my heels, I wait impatiently (and then stop hopping because it jostles my wound). Nothing happens. Brow twitching, I knock again, louder this time, and the door swings in.

"Serah Mina?"

Immediately, I'm hearkened back to scenes of claustrophobic cavern walls dripping with moisture and smothering heat emanating from slowly churning lava. An ashen Anders gives me a forced smile and comforting platitudes, Varric nudges me playfully though his posture is tense, and Hawke watches me in disappointment as I say those words:  _I'm leaving_. A knuckle comes up to furiously rub at my scar as I blink away the images. But the dwarf is still there. And I don't have anything to feel guilty about anymore, do I?

_No, I don't._

I smile slowly at the bearded dwarf with his shining blue eyes. "Er... Bodahn, was it?"

"Of course! It sure has been a while, hasn't it?" He laughs good-naturedly, putting a hand on his belly. That's when I notice his finely tailored tunic and I remember that he's Hawke's steward or something... house keeper? I don't know these roles.

"I definitely remember  _you_ , Bodahn." I smile winningly this time.

That makes him smile. "You helped save my boy." Bodahn seems to pause at the memory, before tugging on his sandy colored beard. "Would you like to come in or leave a message, serah? Lady Leandra is the only one in at the moment and-" He pauses in uncertainty, blinking his blue eyes down at my side, "Is that-?"

"Bodahn? Is someone at the door?" The distinct, elegant voice of Leandra Hawke calls from the depths of the massive estate. When her question draws the dwarf's attention, I move my arm in an attempt to hide the majority of the blood. It's all in vain I'm sure. I'd have better luck hiding an ogre corpse with a napkin. Hell, it looks like I got blasted with a shotgun, the blood is splattered about so messily.

"Oh yes, my lady!" The bearded steward pivots on his heel before backing away, obviously wanting me to enter. "Serah Mina has stopped by! I believe she is here on business."

"Wilhelmina?" I can hear her voice getting closer as she says that mouthful of a name. "Are you here for Garrett?" Her pale blue eyes glitter with some strange amusement and I fight back the urge to throw my head back and groan "Mama Haw-awke!" like her teasing tone is the single most embarrassing thing I've experienced in my life. Actually, it's kinda up there on my list of embarrassing moments. Second to the time I fell into the road after trying to do the Electric Slide in an empanada costume.

Flushing, I avoid the noblewoman's gaze and drawl, "Good afternoon, Leandra!" The matriarch waits for me to enter the house, delicate hands clasped in front of her after smoothing out the silk of her burgundy skirt. When I realize that I can't just get away with chucking the requested items at  _Leandra Hawke_ , of all people, I reluctantly enter. Bodahn promptly shuts the door behind me, sealing my fate. I force a grin. "I take it Haw- Garrett isn't home?"

Eyes like blue fire raze over my wound. Leandra the All-Seeing fixes me with a stern look, all business now that she's witness to my shortcomings. Those slender arms move from their delicate pose to cross over her chest in what I can only call Leandra Hawke's battle stance of maternal disappointment. "No, he isn't home. What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

The thing about nobles is that they have the strangest concept of manners. For example, although I'm very obviously injured, the Lady Hawke must abide by the rules of nobility and grill me with inane questions before going in for the kill. Usually these lines of questions would bug me, but right now I'm using them as a way to buy time and attempt to figure out how to get out of this predicament. I mean, I haven't really seen Leandra since she found me beaten and paralyzed in my home. This is definitely  _not_ how I wanted to see her again.

"I'm waiting," comes Lady Hawke's frigid voice. The second I make eye contact with her, all thoughts of weaseling away are shot dead. If looks could kill, I would be dead, resurrected, and then killed all over again. Bodahn smartly backs away from the scene, saying something about having to polish the banisters.

_Fruity nut bars!_

"Ye-Yes," I reply hesitantly, opting not to lie and end up with her scornful look on me for any longer than I have to endure it. "I landed on some rocks."

Before I can so much as yelp in surprise, Leandra is sitting me on the bench in the entryway and tugging my shirt up. My eyes practically bug out and I really do yelp when my chainmail is pried from my flesh, the metal sticky with congealing blood. Her tut of disapproval is all I need to hear to know that the wound is nasty looking. Well, I've never heard of a  _pretty_ wound before. My clothes are carefully put back in their rightful place and the lady stands before me, oblivious or uncaring of the fact that her fingertips are painted red.

Leandra sighs that disappointed maternal sigh of hers for the umpteenth time, "You really should see a proper healer. That wound needs stitching."

"I'll get Anders on it in no time flat, I promise." I give her my biggest please-don't-be-mad smile that I used to use all the time on my grandpa when I'd get in trouble at school.

I'd like to say I grew out of being a little shit since elementary, but I've kind of relapsed since I came to Thedas. Leandra lets me off the hook so she can go gather "something more suitable" for me to wear and Mr. Perfect Timing comes waltzing in, his black cloak swishing behind him with a pirate and a Mabari on his heels. To the latter, I wind up with a giant head on my lap and I absentmindedly rub the war dog's ears. Apparently the rogue and the mage haven't noticed me yet, too caught up in their chatter to pay any mind to the wounded woman sitting in the foyer.

"Are you certain this will still work? I think I might have frightened her off last time." Garrett frowns down at what looks like a loose-leaf book in his hands that's bound with twine. It sort of reminds me of the loose-leaf textbooks I'd buy for cheap that couldn't be re-sold to the campus bookstore (God, what a con  _that_  was). "This… isn't exactly my  _style_ , Isabela."

Isabela rolls her eyes, a wicked grin on her full lips. "I  _doubt_  that was fear. Just read this, Hawke. A woman like Mina is way out of your league and you'll need more than your boring gentlemanly charm to keep her attention for longer than-"

"Is this honestly what you two do in your spare time? Try to figure out how to seduce me?" I'm mildly amused but mostly irritated that my best friend is giving my lover tips but  _not_ giving me any. For her part, Isabela just grins wolfishly while Hawke looks like he's seen a ghost. The mage hides the manuscript behind his back and lowers his eyes. I slowly close my eyes in irritation before opening them and fixing the two with a bland smile. "Y'know what? Forget I even asked."

Seeming to spare us all an awkward chat, Leandra Hawke returns with a crimson tunic folded in her arms. At the sight of her eldest, the noblewoman smiles. "Oh, Garrett. You're back. Hello, Isabela," Leandra greets politely.

"I'll just be leaving, then." Isabela gives me a wink and shoots Hawke a knowing look before sauntering out of the estate like nothing was ever amiss. Surely she knows I'm going to hunt her down and grill her later?

"Mother, I was-" Hawke pauses, looking at the tunic, before returning his tired gaze to Leandra, "I was wondering if Sebastian stopped by. He had written me to say he would be coming around the estate to talk about some business matters."

"I'm afraid not." Leandra hands me the tunic under Hawke's critical gaze and I take it graciously, knowing she won't let me leave if I don't. Hell, I might end up held against my will for the second time in my life and it'll all be over a damn tunic that's Hawke-crimson. "Take this and change in Garrett's room, I'm sure he won't mind." The noblewoman doesn't even allow her son a chance to respond. "His room is at the top of the stairs, the middle room."

"O-Okay." I'm practically leaning forward in my seat to grab the article of clothing and a sharp pinching in my side alerts me to the fact that I leaned forward perhaps a bit too eagerly and I slowly sit back for a moment, catch my breath, and stand. When I glance down, Biscuit looks up at me with big, worried brown eyes. "Oh, I'll be fine." I murmur to him before returning my gaze to Leandra. "Thank you for the change of clothes. I'll be back shortly, Mama Hawke- I mean Lady Haw- Lady Leandra!" The nickname slips from my tongue before I have a chance to forcibly shove my fist into my mouth.

_Kill me!_

The noblewoman's lips quirk into a barely hidden smile. "It's no trouble, dear. Do take your time."

I waste no time scurrying up to the room on the second floor, shouldering the door open before anyone can comment on my dumb, childish name for the Lady Hawke. I want to lament on my stupidity, but the second I see Hawke's bedroom I'm at a loss for insulting words to hurl at myself. The room is massive with its own fireplace and a humongous canopy bed. A desk sits just to the right of the door and it's covered with books, scrolls, and quills. Amongst the clutter on the desk, I see Anders' manifesto.

I snort, a bit of tension uncoiling from my shoulders as I casually walk around, running my fingertips along the plush duvet on the bed. Everything is a warm red, as I suspected, with splashes of gold and black. It's about a thousand times fancier than even the best room The Man has to offer and probably more color-coordinated than anything in the damn city. Being in this room, however, my stomach twists uncomfortably and I find myself glaring down at the red tunic in my hands like it owes me money.

Why the hell is Leandra throwing me at her son? I had ignored Gamlen's little barb when the siblings found me paralyzed in my own home (since I was kinda preoccupied), but now? That lady deliberately sent me to her  _adult son's room_  when she could have easily offered her own vacant room or the toilets (if they have a washroom…) but she didn't. Is there something wrong with Hawke? Am I the first person to show a vague interest in her son? 'Cause I'll be honest: I'm no mother's greatest wish for their son or daughter. I have major attachment issues and problems with romantic commitment.

_Enough about your winning qualities._

With a tortured sigh, I strip my cowl from my head and yank my bloodied tunic off. Chainmail is pried away and tossed on the floor with a distinct metallic  _clink_  before I'm left standing in my bloody breastband. I swear angrily when I realize that asshole mage ruined like the only decent looking bra that I own. Yeah, it was my fault that I wore it on a job, but it's super comfortable compared to the other boob death traps that I own that feel like they cut into my ribs.

The bra is removed and falls to the floor along with several made up curses before a sudden realization strikes me. Wait a sec. There's a problem here. Leandra gave me this tunic to change into so that I'm not wearing something covered in blood. Although my lovely wound has stopped gushing like a fountain of Big Red soda, I'm not exactly  _clean_. Upper lip twitching at my lack of foresight, I hug my bloodied tunic to my chest and make my way to the door, glancing longingly at the clean tunic on the bed.

Just as I'm about to open the door, there's a delicate yet authoritative knock. I slowly close my eyes and call through the door, "Not to go making demands of you in your own house, but do you mind bringing me some water to clean off with?" There's a very pregnant pause and I can only guess by staring at the door that Hawke is maybe a million shades of red. Usually his innocence in this respect would make me laugh, but right now I'm half-naked and bloody with not a shred of humor left in my beaten and bruised body. "Hawke? That  _is_  you, right?" I make to open the door but the person on the other side quickly yanks it closed.

"Yes, it's me." Hawke replies hastily, sounding as flustered as I thought he would be. "I'll be right back."

I roll my eyes and shout after his footsteps, "Thank you!"

I sit on one of the elegant chairs in front of the fireplace as I wait for the mage to return with that precious, precious water. Before I sat, I thought it wise to hold on to my breastband lest Hawke see it on his floor and pass out. The thought makes me laugh but I'm not laughing for too long before prickly pain tightens along my wound. A low hiss escapes me. Jeeze Louise! Y'know, I really need to hammer Julian about that beach mage because he sure got awfully quiet when I went into detail about the bug-eyed lunatic. And if he can intrude on my life, I can ask him one damn question.

A loud knock alerts me to Hawke's presence beyond the door and I sing, "Come in!"

There's a barely audible declaration of hesitance and possibly protest before the mage enters his room, brow furrowed and eyes trained on the floor. "I could have left the basin at the door," the golem announces. "I don't wish to invade your privacy."

I watch in boredom and inform him, "Privacy is an illusion. I'm sure you know that, considering you grew up in a house with two siblings."

"True. However, I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Hawke seems to think he can stealthily put whatever book Is handed to him on his desk as he passes it without me noticing. It's almost like he doesn't know me at all. I once learned how to pick cheapo locks, like the ones they have on Lisa Frank diaries (exactly those, actually) because I heard some girl in elementary wrote about me in her diary that she carried around in her backpack… Now that I think about it, I sound like a total nut. I was seven!

Hawke's comment on my comfort, however, makes me chuckle. "I can't count how many times my grandmother walked in on me when I was changing my clothes- or how many times Isabela has, for that matter. So, you seeing me half naked is  _not_  as traumatizing for me as you might think it is, Garrett."

"Still," Hawke insists, extending the basin of water towards me along with a washcloth, "I would rather not risk overstepping my boundaries."

"Well, I appreciate the thought." I smile. Despite my insistence that this isn't embarrassing for me because I haven't had the luxury of privacy in decades, I drop my breastband on the floor and grab the washcloth from Hawke. While Hawke is momentarily distracted, red-faced and apologizing, seemingly not knowing if he should pick my bra up for me or leave it on the floor in case I might take offense to him handling my  _intimates_ , I dip the cloth in the water and wipe down my wound. By the time he looks back up at me, I'm sitting cool and composed (and with a throbbing side) like nothing happened.

With a smirk, I saunter over toward the bed and throw the clean tunic on with my back to the mage. I'm a little proud of myself for moving so quickly, that is, until I turn around and really  _look_  at Hawke and realize he wasn't even on his A-game. Those usually keen golden eyes are bloodshot and there are bags under them. He's exhausted and I can only guess that whatever he was up to was pretty taxing. This thought makes me frown. While Hawke was out doing important things, I was getting roughed up on the coast for the sake of a flower. Speaking of flowers that are more effort than they're worth, I stiffly hand Hawke his requested items.

"Thank you, Mina." Hawke forces a smile before taking the seat opposite mine.

Golden eyes zero in on the exact place where my wound is and I huff, "Yes, I got wounded on your  _busywork_."

"Busywork?"

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything stupid, but as usual I can't help myself. I fix the mage with a cold look. "I get it, Hawke. You think I'm some useless little fool who gets herself in trouble all the time. I admit I come across that way from time to time and you seem to have  _impeccable_  timing when it comes to seeing me at my lowest, but I've survived on my own for quite a while now. I don't need to be coddled."

"Where is this coming from?" Garrett asks patiently and though I know he doesn't mean anything by it, it still rubs me the wrong way. Blame it on blood loss and babysitting Julian.

"Picking flowers is a job for herbalists and children." I seethe. "I don't know where herbalism is listed on my job experience, but I'm a trained guard, Hawke. I should be-!" Watching your back. Oh my God, I'm all fired up because my  _feelings_  are hurt that Hawke went on some exhausting job where he could have been injured and I wasn't on hand to help him. Blood rushes into my cheeks and I resolutely look away from the mage.

_Please, don't be like this!_

Hawke rubs his face and sighs. When he realizes that I'm still standing, he gestures towards the chair behind me and I reluctantly throw myself down like a petulant child. Golden eyes hold my gaze. "I do  _not_ think you need to be coddled. Truthfully, I needed you to keep Fenris and Anders busy so that I could deal with sensitive matters. The two have been at each other's throats more than usual as of late, and neither one of them would have made my job any easier. As you already know from your line of work, it does not do to make enemies in your own ranks."

I ask slowly, suspiciously, "What exactly were you doing?"

"I was with Varric and Aveline. The Viscount had us looking for a missing Qunari delegate." Hawke looks grim as he continues, "As it turned out, the delegate and his entourage had been abducted and tortured by Chantry zealots. I'm sure Anders would have jumped at the opportunity to defame the Chantry for the actions of a minority, though I can hardly blame him. It was an act of barbarity."

"I'm guessing it didn't turn out well for the Qunari... Were the wounds severe?" I wince as I ask, already guessing the answer based on Hawke's grave expression.

"By the time we made it, it was too late. I'm only glad that the Viscount seems to trust my counsel so much, since he thought it wise to ask me what should be done with the bodies. If it had been anyone else to discover the treachery, I'm sure he would have covered up the mess and further strained the already tense relationship between the Qunari and Kirkwall."

"So you told the Arishok that his men were murdered? Good on ya, Paragon Hawke." I grin when the mage snorts at the title. "How did he take it?"

That wipes away what semblance of a smile I had managed to give Hawke. He's back to staring at the floor, expression brooding. "He's difficult to read. I'm afraid it won't be long before things degenerate further."

That makes my stomach sink. I've worked with a Qunari before. Well, I mean...  _Vashoth_? I don't know, the mercenary I worked with told me that "Qunari" refers to the people who follow the Qun and not the race. She said that she was simply  _Vashoth_ , having not ever been a follower of the Qun. Anyway, where I'm going with this is that "Vashoth" are incredible fighters. Even the Vashoth mage was a sight to behold when we got in a scrap. So, to think of the Arishok and his trained Qunari soldiers attacking the city is enough to give me stomach cramps.

_If they attack, we're probably all dead. Super._

The grin that warps my face is so obviously forced. "Well, the people of Kirkwall  _have_ been murdering and abusing the Qunari since practically the moment the big guys got here. I wouldn't really blame them for snapping." I shrug but add hastily to take the edge off of my tone, "Not that I'd  _condone_  adding any more violence in this place. It's barely habitable as it is."

That gets Hawke to practically snap his neck as he turns his attention away from the ornate rug on the floor to look at me. "Do you feel unsafe in your home?" Hawke questions, looking genuinely concerned.

For whatever reason, I blush. "Hey, hey, I can take care of myself. The worst I get these days are really persistent rats and I've already named like five of them, so I'm getting attached. Or maybe there's just the one but I see it a lot? Ah, never mind. Nothing to worry about."

_Nice save!_

We fall into a somewhat refreshing silence- I think Hawke might find it refreshing that I'm no longer breathing down his neck. And I would find it pleasant were it not for the fact that the only thing rolling around in my head is a potential Qunari attack. I feel like everything in Kirkwall is just getting worse and worse... I almost wish Hawke hadn't told me about his job. But I  _did_ pressure him. I rest my elbows on my knees and I can only imagine how Hawke feels, stuck in the middle of this mess. I'm used to averting my eyes and ignoring the abuse, the corruption, the politicking that I like to foolishly believe to be of no consequence at all to someone like me.

But while I've been out fooling around, having a grand old time, the shitstorm has been picking up speed- slowly and steadily. Honestly, I can't say that I didn't see any of this coming, that this news has caught me totally off guard. There have always been rumors that the Qunari have never had any intention of leaving this place. They had washed up in Kirkwall at around the same time as myself, so I was too busy getting adjusted to pay them any mind. I had naively thought that they were in the same boat as me: A foreigner stuck in a strange land.

However, where I was disoriented and struggling to go with the flow,  _they_ had a plan. A plan of conquest? I don't know. But they never did seem like they had any intention of assimilating into Kirkwall's debased form of culture, mostly keeping to themselves and not allowing outsiders in. It's hard to tell what they want, since it's not like I've made it my life goal to study the people and psychoanalyze them. With a grimace, I throw Hawke a quick glance to find him staring at me. Whoops.

Hawke clears his throat, "And what of  _your_ mission, Mina?"

_Oh, good! Please, take my mind off of this mess._

I gesture toward the plant that's wrapped up in thin linen and the container of ink. "The answer is in your hands."

"And on your side, I take it." The mage rebukes, ever the disapproving, stoic leader.

Rolling my eyes I groan, "Can't you cut me some slack just this once?"

There's a brief pause before he breathes, "May I?"

"May you what?" My eyebrow pops up as I give him a smirk. "Cut me some slack? By all means!"

Hawke fixes me with an exasperated look. " _No_ , Mina. May I look at your wound?"

I frown but nod, thankful that he actually  _asked._ Shoulders come up in a stiff shrug. "Er, sure. Why not?"

_Bad idea…_

The mage moves fluidly, setting aside the flower and ink so he can kneel before me. Gently, he tugs my shirt up for a better view of my wound and I swear I can hear him wince when he pulls the shirt up a bit too much and nearly exposes my breast. I  _almost_  laugh. For a moment he just stares and I think my heart stops. Hawke sighs, brow furrowed, and a faint blue glow begins to radiate from his right hand as he hovers it over the gash. I jolt back as tingly warmth spreads through my side and the mage looks up at me, lips pursed. Ashamed, I force myself to stay still against the bizarre sensation of flesh slowly sealing together.

For a second a deep, horrible fear tears through my mind: Am I going to attack Hawke? I know I've been "good" about the whole mage thing, but I still vividly remember a time not so long ago where I was huddled in an alley like a junkie, considering hunting Hawke down and  _ripping_ his magic out of him against his will. Taking deep breaths, I stare at the wall over the mage's head. I try to ignore the bristly dark hair that occasionally pops into my view when the mage huffs in frustration. Eyelids flutter shut at the magic that tickles my flesh along with the feeling of Hawke's warm breath ghosting across my exposed stomach. Suddenly it stops and Hawke looks up at me.

_Get that stupid look off of your face, Mina! Stat!_

I blink and squint at him, trying not to look like I was probably enjoying his touch way,  _way_  too much. "I-I didn't know you knew healing spells. Are you a jack of all trades but a master of none? That would certainly make me feel better about myself."

Hawke seems to want to avoid eye contact as he fiddles with a small vial of lyrium that he produced from a pouch on his Batman utility belt. For a second, I fear he can read my mind. "My father always told me that every mage should know at least one basic healing spell. I'm no spirit healer like Anders, obviously, since healing that one wound took such a long time. My apologies." The mage turns his head away as he knocks back the contents of the vial.

"Apologies?" I guffaw, trying not to stare at the way his throat moves as he swallows. "You just  _healed_ my wound! Thank you."

Garrett smiles faintly, putting the empty container away. "You're welcome. However, I would advise you have Anders give that wound another look." As I make to stand up and leave without another word in my awkward fashion, a deep ache settles into my knee. My face tightens against the pain and I bite down on a grunt. All of that running around on the coast took a bit out of me and my bad knee is sorely paying the price. Which isn't all that surprising, considering I had my ass handed to me. At the sound of my muffled pain, Hawke looks up once more and asks, "Are you all right?"

_Damn the coolness of this well-built house!_

It's an active effort not to roll my eyes at my body's frailty. "Yeah, yeah," I murmur as I begin rubbing some warmth into my knee, "I guess I strained myself and the cold just hurts my knee sometimes. I may tease you by calling you a stuffy old grandpa, considering you're _ancient_ , but I'm the one with the bad joints."

"Your right knee?" Hawke questions, ignoring my barb about his age.

"That's the one." I raise my eyebrow when I'm prompted to sit back down. The mage moves my hands away and places his own on my knee. My skin buzzes where his fingers brushed against mine. "Do you want to take this to the bed?" I joke, voice a little high, and almost drop dead when the mage's golden eyes meet mine.

"Would that make you more comfortable?"

He seems genuine, not like he's up to something devious. The golem's pale cheeks are dusted with a light pink blush. Eyes glance down to his lips before I look away and drawl, "I mean,  _y_ _eah_ … You sure have a fancy bed." I try to be cool and collected as I stand and allow Hawke to lead me to his bed. Ignoring the fuzzy feeling in my side from my healed wound, I pull myself up onto his high bed and watch as the mage kneels before me, holding my knee in his hands. Hawke slowly pulses warmth from his hands and I flop down to stare up at the crimson canopy. God damn, this is awkward!

I still have that squirmy little feeling in my gut, worrying about hearing voices and getting bizarre, homicidal urges. Then, as my knee warms pleasantly, I get to thinking that I should  _probably_  start hanging around Julian, even if the Palm is annoyingly hyperactive and intrusive. After all, Mike gave the weirdo a suspiciously shining character witness and labeled the guy the paragon of trustworthiness. And if I  _do_  start hanging around Julian, maybe I can figure out how the hell he got my stubborn kid brother to like him so much in the course of what was maybe an hour.

And there's a certain healer with a good bit of knowledge on the Fade and all things magical who owes me a favor. Yes, with all my shit talking about people calling in favors that sometimes aren't even owed to them, I'm about to eat crow- and I'll damn well smile when I do it as long as I get some answers. Though I appreciate Hawke's job offers and concern, those things don't answer my questions about Summoned. I  _need_  to take care of this Summoned stuff if I want to be able to protect Hawke properly and call myself Merrill's friend and Anders' ally- because you aren't someone's lover or friend if you're a coin toss away from murdering them. A pang of guilt shoots through my stomach as I look down at the mage.

_I really do appreciate this... Probably too much._

When he's done, Hawke picks himself up off of the floor and sits on the bed next to me. Luckily, the heat has abated from my cheeks and I look cool as a cucumber by the time Hawke's staring me down. I give myself an internal high-five for that before propping myself up on my elbows. I glance over at Garrett and murmur, "You know, I know that I'm always giving you a hard time and all but I want you to know that... I want you to know that I'm not being  _malicious_ , I'm just..." I sigh and go back to staring at the canopy, "Well, let's just say that back in my old life I was such a little shit."

"Was?"

Turning toward him in shock, I see a hint of a grin on the mage's lips. I laugh and playfully glare at him, "Okay! So you do joke, hm? I take it you're getting more comfortable with me, so I guess that means I'll have to deal with Lord Sass more often, eh?" I sit up fully and snort, "Not that I'm complaining. It's... interesting to talk to you like this. Not like we never talked before, I just usually didn't listen." I shrug.

The mage scowls. "You never listened to me?"

"Only when you glared. You can get a bit long-winded and I have a short attention span, Hawke. You have to break out the sock puppets to keep me engaged, remember?"

"You honestly never listened?" He seems to be stuck on that.

I roll my eyes. "I'm pulling your leg again, Grandpa Hawke.  _Of course_ I listened! You're my boss!"

Frowning, the mage replies, "Well, I hope you listen for more than that reason alone, now."

I shrug again, but this time it's a bit weak. His little hint about our budding relationship makes me feel strange. I've only ever fooled around with people and none of it was serious or ever intended to be serious later on down the road. There were no meaningful conversations, the concern and care was only ever one-sided, and it always ended quickly and bitterly- or quickly and apathetically. With the state that Kirkwall is in, with Hawke being a mage in a world that fears mages, I can only see this relationship following the same pattern as the others.

_Don't let fear stop you._

Kicking my legs back and forth, I look away. "So... It seems like your new status as the Viscount's right hand is going to be keeping you awfully busy. Eh, Hawke?"

I think Hawke senses the sudden tension in the air because he replies hesitantly and at length like he fears his response will have great repercussions, "It certainly does seem that way, yes."

"I'll be around if you need me for anything." I stand quickly after I say that and slap on the most unassuming smile I've ever worn. "No more flowers, though."

Golden eyes watch me intently as I stuff my soiled clothes in my pack like I just stole them. The mage's dark brow furrows. "You'll be around?"

Giving an energetic shrug, I turn on my heel and head for the door. "Yes. I've been on the brink of an existential crisis for a while now and I need to go on a journey of self-discovery," I joke and when I glance over my shoulder I almost jump out of my skin when I see Hawke is only a few paces behind me. "I'm still going to be in Kirkwall, mind, I'll just be…  _busy_. I need to employ Anders' help about me being undead and all."

At that, the mage frowns. "Busy?" He seems to think something over before saying, "I heard about your brother. That he left, I mean. Would that happen to have anything to do with your sudden..." the mage seems to be struggling to find the adequate word, " _research_?"

"Nobody knows how to mind their own business, it seems," I reply acidly, trying not to feel guilty that I never mentioned the situation to Hawke and that he had to learn this from a secondary source. "But, in short, yes. I figure it will do me some good to figure myself out before I try to tackle a situation I know next to nothing about."

And by tackle a situation, I mean deal with this Summoned bologna. Judging by my brother's sloppy notes and Julian's diatribes, there's something about our existence that's a bit more sinister than anyone is letting on. Mike mentioned that he heard singing when he was brought here and that Kiri did, too. Julian talked about hearing voices and that this demon or spirit or  _whatever_  has been trying to reach me. Now, I'm no shrink, but I think hearing random voices is a bad sign. Especially when I take in account that we're basically using Carrow's connection to the Fade to be able to use our abilities which we actually get  _from_  the creature!

"Figure yourself out?"

I blink, startled out of my thoughts. Confused that he's not really following, I start, "Yeah, because of-" Right. I made out with him before I could explain exactly why I was feeling up his face and why touching him was so important to me. Pain lances through my gut, a twinge of fear and anxiety. Do I tell him now? Lies always get found out when they come from me and it would be better if he heard this from the horse's mouth, anyway. Shooting Hawke a serious look, I ask, "Remember when I said I would explain why I wanted to touch your face?"

As expected, his cheeks flush pink. "Yes. I don't recall you explaining, however."

"Well, it would have ruined the moment," I joke lightly. "You see, my compulsion drains me. Like when you use your magic and you have to restore your mana, you use lyrium. Right?" The mage nods, following me now, and I continue. "Apparently, because I'm not a mage and mana isn't something I properly have, I can't just guzzle lyrium to recharge myself. I have to-" Take it. I freeze. This sounds way worse than I thought it would but I have to be upfront.

"You what?" Hawke encourages, patient as ever as we stand awkwardly in the privacy of his room. It's because we're behind closed doors that some of my anxiety is lessened about confessing these awful things about myself.

Sucking down air and courage, I reply matter-of-factly, "I have to take magic directly from a mage because, unlike a mage, I don't  _have_  a connection to the Fade to pull magic from, per se. The blood mage, Carrow, makes the connection for me, but because he hasn't physically been around I haven't been able to replenish magic to my non-magical body. Or something like that." I shrug, feeling a bit foolish at not being able to properly explain the situation. "So, because I so clearly  _don't_  have a very good grasp on all of this, I need to go and figure myself out. I hope… I hope you aren't disgusted."

For his part, Hawke looked relatively unfazed as I told him all of this, showing interest and concern until I let my little insecurities bleed through. Because now he's frowning at me and looking personally offended. "Disgusted?" He queries, brow creased.

The large room seems so much smaller now when I confess softly, "When I grabbed your wrist before, I  _took_  something from you without asking, Hawke. And I-" I cut myself off and wince, looking away.

"You?"

_Just say it!_

"I had to leave because I wanted to take more from you. Again,  _without_  asking. The reason I touched your face at The Man was to see if I would do that all the time and to see if maybe I could control it." I finish, tone sharp.

Golden eyes watch me evenly. "I'm not disgusted or appalled or anything of the sort, Mina. From what you've just told me, this is an impulse that you cannot control. At least, not yet." The mage appears to mull over my words carefully while weighing his own potential responses like the analytical robot that he is. He replies slowly, "And seeing as how I'm not your keeper, I cannot tell you what you should and shouldn't do. So, please be careful with wherever this research takes you. I wouldn't hear the end of it from mother if you got injured again."

_He's taking this suspiciously well. Then again, this is probably just one more weird ass thing that he's been confronted with._

But his little vote of confidence in me? That I can't control it  _yet_? My stomach feels all fluttery, as cheesy as that sounds. I smile tightly, fighting back a stupid giggle, my back against the bedroom door. "Yeah, yeah.  _Sheesh_ , your mom cares about me more than my own mom ever did... Anyway, I should get going. If you have any jobs for me, just yell it from your roof or have someone poke around Anders' clinic. I'll be out screwing around while you're busy saving the world."

_And putting yourself in danger._

"I'm hardly saving the world, Mina."

His proximity is making feel a little light-headed, so I decide to fall back on humor, shrugging for maybe the millionth time against the door and rolling my eyes at his humility. "Yeah, well, you're getting pretty damn close to-" My eyes fall on the loose-leaf book on the desk next to us just as Hawke's do. Golden eyes widen marginally and I cut myself off to practically dive for the book despite the fact that Hawke makes no move to grab it. "Yoink!" I swear I hear Hawke murmur "Maker" under his breath when I triumphantly hold the stack of pages over my head like a trophy.

"Mina," Hawke starts warily, face tight, "please don't."

"Don't what?" I sing teasingly. "Don't read your  _smut_ , Garrett Hawke?" His cheeks color at the word and I continue, undaunted, "Ooh, such an interesting reaction. Now I  _have_  to read this." Hawke doesn't make to stop me as I make a show of tugging the twine off. That gives me pause. The mage looks thoroughly uncomfortable, ashamed and embarrassed. Guilt coils in my gut, hot and unyielding, and I throw the fat stack of papers back down on his desk with a groan. "You're no fun when you make that face. I can't even enjoy finding out what you're into without feeling like I'm murdering someone in cold blood."

The mage snatches the papers from the desk and sighs, "This is Isabela's doing. I haven't read it yet. She's trying to teach me a lesson."

"A lesson? About what?" He doesn't answer. Watching the flustered mage hastily stuff the pages into his desk, I find myself raising my eyebrows and asking, "Well, what  _are_  you into, then? For future reference, of course."

I don't miss the way the man's back goes rigid. He turns to me stiffly, eyes looking everywhere but directly at me. "I don't have any preferences."

_Bullshit. What's he hiding?_

With that thought in mind, I frown. Hawke shifts his stance, probably thinking I'm going to go off about how I know he's lying (which is tempting). Instead, I just stare him down, trying to will him to open up. A blush blossoms across the mage's face at my bold staring and he swallows hard. Eyes stare at his lips. I try in vain to ignore the growing heat between my thighs. Blame it on the fact that I'm alone with him behind closed doors… with the lock to the door just within reach.  _And_  that he accepted me for who and what I am is  _way_  more of a turn-on than it should be, honestly.

I finally I look away after a few heated moments, sighing dramatically and thinking better of it. Hawke and I have only kissed occasionally, so I think if my sexually aggressive self were to try and make a move I might spook him. But oh my  _God!_  His whole coy act is killing me. Yeah, I can be patient, I can wait friggin' decades for Hawke to finally open up, but... It seems a bit unfair that he has a leg up on me, getting information from Isabela in the form of her weird ass "friendfictions." But the way he's coming across as so closed off has alarm bells blaring in my head. I'd much rather not push it- push  _him_ \- and have it backfire.

Shrugging dispassionately, I drawl, " _Oh, well_. Anyway, I've got places to go and people to see." At the thinly veiled disappointment on Hawke's face, I point out, " _You're_  the one being all secretive. One day, when you're finally ready to open up, I'll just give you a taste of things to come- not even the whole thing." At his nonplussed expression, I huff. "Hopefully when that time rolls around, you can appreciate my shitty pun since you didn't even give me a pity laugh, you jerk."

"Pun?" Hawke puzzles, crossing his arms and fixing me with a queer look.

"A taste of things to  _come_ , Hawke?" When he still looks puzzled, I throw my hands in the air. "Oh,  _come_  on!"

"Mina," Hawke chuckles, "maybe it's just a bad joke?"

I jab my index finger at him and hiss, "Tell it to Cap or Shortcake!  _They'll_  laugh, you'll see! It's a funny joke!"

"I'd rather not talk to them about what we do behind closed doors."

"God, why do you insist on depriving me of an appreciative audience?" I groan, adjusting my pack and getting ready to leave.

" _I'm_  appreciative of you." Hawke states.

"Yes, I can tell by the gaping hole in my chest that's left from the absence of laughter."

"You're very dramatic," Hawke murmurs, closing the distance between us to press a heated kiss to my lips. His hand cups my cheek, tilting my head back and deepening the kiss. Prickly facial hair tickles my face and I have to fight off a mood-ruining laugh. A warm tongue parts my lips, dancing across my tongue for a moment, giving me just a hint of the taste of lyrium, before the mage pulls away and places a far more chaste kiss to my lips. "And I appreciate every dramatic thing you say and do."

"Wow. That's embarrassing for you," I chortle, hiding my breathlessness and the way my heart threatens to escape from my chest behind humor. "Someone might think you love me if you keep talking like that." At the sudden blush that sears the mage's cheeks, I yank the door open with an unsure grin on my face and wink. "Well, I'll be at Anders' clinic if you need me and if you  _need_  me. Later, Hawke."

_Don't think on that look too much. You read too much into stuff, Mina!_

After shoving away the bizarre look on Hawke's face, I head off to Darktown. My first stop is going to be Anders' clinic, obviously. Though I immediately want to go and gather all my notes and the stupid Pig Latin book, I figure I should  _probably_  see if Anders is down to play teacher before burying him in nonsensical notes. When I get to the clinic, however, I'm actually surprised to find Julian sitting on a crate, kicking his legs back and forth in the empty little clinic. The second he spots me in the doorway, the brunet waves me over frantically, a wide grin on his face. With narrowed eyes, I approach him slowly.

"What are you doing here, Jules?"

The Palm leans back, resting his hands on the crate casually before snorting, "Don't be so suspicious, doll. It ain't a good look for ya." Seeing my unamused face, Julian sits upright. "I'm on guard detail. Andy mentioned there'd been a couple of break-ins lately. Some hooligans stole a few potions and herbs. So, seein' as how it's a free clinic and all, I thought 'Damn, that shit ain't right!' And I offered to watch things while Anders sleeps and shit. 'Course he declined my offer but I'm not one to take no for an answer. Besides, I don't have a damn thing to do otherwise and Andy is pretty cool for a mage." Looking around, Julian stage-whispers, "He's fuckin' possessed though!"

" _What?_ " My voice cuts through the air like a serrated blade in the empty clinic at hearing this news. Not the old news about Anders being possessed, of course, but the fact that someone has been stealing from a non-profit clinic that's basically the only source of healthcare for the poor. Apparently I was a little too loud, because the curtain is pulled back in the sectioned-off portion of the clinic and a head of messy blond hair pokes out. Tired amber eyes shoot lasers at me and I wince apologetically. "Sorry, Anders. Wait! Don't go back to bed just yet! I'm actually here to see you."

My declaration has the blond hastening to exit his tiny bedroom. He brushes his hands off on his rumpled cloak. "Good! I was starting to get worried. Now, let me look at that woun-"

"No, not that." I blush, embarrassed that he had been thinking about my stupid, wounded self even after I had so rudely brushed him off. "Hawke actually took care of that."

I don't miss the ghost of a smile on the blond's lips or how he looks like he's tempted to tease me. "Well, let me check his work, then." I oblige and the healer has me sit on a cot. As expected, nosy Julian follows. The pearlescent ridge just under my ribs is exposed and my brow furrows when I notice how Julian's eyes darken in anger at the sight. Anders comments, "He's getting better. That's good. Now, what did you want to see me for?"

"Yeah," Julian drawls once he's affixed that jovial mask back onto his face, "whatcha wanna see Pretty Boy for?"

Ignoring the way Anders visibly twitches at that nickname, I shoot Julian a pointed look. "I need to talk to Anders in private." My statement nearly sends Julian's eyebrows on a trip to the moon.

"Why?" The Palm asks suspiciously.

"Suspicion isn't a good look for you, Jules." I tease and he flushes.

"Fine." He huffs, crossing his arms and stomping off back to his dirty old crate. Anders watches our exchange curiously, blond eyebrows raised and bloodshot eyes surprisingly keen. His pale, haggard face betrays his interest in our admittedly bizarre interaction. Sure, Julian and I tend to bicker but that's because we don't know each other all that well- and because of our lack of an established relationship, I'm easily vexed by his insistence on inserting himself in any and all aspects of my life. 'Cause let's be honest, the dude acts like a busybody distant relative. Like those ones you see at Thanksgiving who act like they know your life based on vague Facebook posts and a flimsy blood relation.

"What was that about?" Anders queries, brow quirked.

My intense desire to roll my eyes is momentarily stifled as I opt to get right down to business. "I need your help with some research." I say this all lowly, hushed under my breath lest Julian hear I'm looking to an outside source for Summoned help. And why should  _he_  be upset? It's not like he's been terribly helpful. He's cryptic in the worst way possible in that he expects me to have some basic knowledge on blood magic. Like taking an entry level foreign language class and the professor expects you to know the basics on the first day.

"Research?" The healer cocks his head like a confused cat. "Concerning what?"

"Concerning what I am and…" I trail off, gaze flickering to the tiny brooding brunet who is currently keeping an eye on the door. Briefly, I wonder just how skilled he is in a fight to be so confident as a guard. And what his ability is as Summoned, for that matter. I know he can manipulate the physical world, according to Mike's notes, but I don't know exactly what that entails.

"What Julian is, too?" Anders finishes for me, ripping me rather violently from my thoughts. Those keen honey brown eyes never leave me and I feel small under his gaze. It's been a while since I had a serious discussion with the mage. I almost forgot how intense he is. There's just this sort of "all knowing" vibe he has about him. I think, maybe, I can pin that on his rather close connection to the Fade. Maybe that's why he makes me feel funny, too.

Shoulders move fluidly up and down in a shrug that attempts to establish indifference. "Figured you'd sniff that secret out sooner rather than later."

Looking to ease the tension that's so apparent in me (and I thought I was hiding it so well!), the healer sits on the cot next to me. This earns us a sideways glance from Julian which we both resolutely ignore, much to the Palm's growing chagrin. "It was easier for me to figure out with you being around him," Anders admits. "You both feel the same. As a matter of fact, you both  _look_  the same, too. The resemblance is uncanny." The healer adds, squinting at me as he drinks in my physical appearance.

I scoot away from him a bit, uncomfortable at feeling like I'm suddenly under a microscope. "What?" I guffaw, barely choking back a laugh. "We're  _not_  related. God, don't tell me I  _look_  like him!"

In an attempt to soothe my ego, Anders chortles, "It's not a  _bad_  thing. Julian is an attractive man. Well, I mean, his features _are_  a little delicate- like yours- and you both look quite young for your age, which  _can_  be a bit off-putting to-"

"Please, stop." I groan. "You were doing so well and then you just shat all over my appearance. Remind me to never come to you to make me feel good about my girlish good looks."

"Sorry." Anders winces. "Would it help if I said you both have beautiful hair? Maybe if he brushed his-"

"Oh,  _no!_ " I snort, waving the man off. "Considering Julian's hair is much like mine, brushing it is the least helpful thing to do. Trust me." After receiving a confused look in response, I decide it's best to move on from this pointless discussion. "Anyway, considering your knowledge of the Fade, I've come into some information about how I was summoned and possibly the reason why I was summoned in the first place. I was hoping you could look over the notes I have and give me some insight on what it all means. As it stands, I think I lack a basic knowledge on magic to grasp what my brother was trying to tell me in his notes."

Now Anders has that familiar, intrigued look in his eye like he's a scholar at heart. "Your brother wrote these notes for you?"

"Yes. He and Julian seem to have an unexplainable knowledge of what we are but, considering my brother isn't in Kirkwall anymore," I don't miss how Anders seems to already know this, "Julian is my unreliable font of knowledge and he's rather cryptic when I try to get answers from him. Well, Julian sounds like some fanatical holy-roller when he starts up, which concerns me more than anything. But seeing as how you've employed him as your guard-"

"I've done nothing of the sort," Anders corrects, indignant. "He's like a stray cat. And I don't need protecting from someone who so clearly despises mages."

"But since he's clearly going to be hanging around whether you like it or not," I point out unhelpfully, "I figured in exchange for your help,  _I'll_  be your guard, too."

"My guard?" The healer crosses his arms, brown eyes razing over me. His expression is guarded as he asks slowly, cautiously, "Would you be comfortable with that arrangement?"

_Why is he looking at me like I might explode?_

"I'm sorry? I don't think I follow." I smile quizzically, confused by his question.

The healer takes a breath before fixing me with a stern but neutral frown. "You know, before we even met, I had heard these strange stories from some of the mages who came by the clinic to be healed. There was one woman in particular who went by the name Winter. She was badly bruised but otherwise unhurt- she came by just to be sure her ribs weren't broken. She had told me that her wounds would have been much, much worse had it not been for a dashing woman who protected mages without prejudice. I was intrigued, to say the least. I asked for a description, a name,  _anything_  since people like the woman described are so rare."

_Oh, boy..._

I remember this Winter person because her hair had been bone white, perfectly fitting her pseudonym. We had been smuggling opiates into the city when some gang members happened to stumble across us. It was five against two, not bad odds. But Winter was new to the smuggling gig and wasn't accustomed to the small numbers that smuggling required. She was used to having four or five people watching her back at a time. And although her arcane magic was powerful, she was easily overwhelmed. I rescued her, as was my job. I didn't think anything of it. But the way Anders is building this story up… I fidget under his gaze. "Anders..."

"She gave me the name Solis and said this Solis had hair the color of elfroot and that she was beautiful and winsome," he continues, gaze unwavering. "I took it all with a grain of salt, I admit. Winter had a reputation for romanticizing events. And then I met you. And you were so not like she had described. You were afraid of me. And as I got to know you, I realized you were afraid of  _mages_. Then I learned more and more about you and the origins of your fear became apparent."

"So, you think I can't protect you because I'm  _afraid_  of you? Or because I hate mages?" I snap. I don't mean to snap. But it's just that when people poke a sore spot, I get a bit too reactionary for my own liking. The fact that I have this sometimes crippling phobia of people who have done me no wrong shames me. The fact that it's  _apparent_  shames me. Because, although I have this fear, the last thing I want to do is alienate someone innocent. A blush warms my cheeks and I'm feeling hot under the collar- in a bad way, obviously.

Anders shakes his head immediately. "No. That's not it at all. I know you're a very good guard. I'm just…  _trying_  to be considerate of your past. Hawke had sat me and Merrill down for a little chat about you." Brown eyes watch me intently when I bite my lip. "He told us what this Carrow did to you. How you feared for your safety and your life. How you regretted harboring ill will towards mages as a whole because of your experience. I want you to know that I don't resent you in the slightest. I understand."

Briefly, I want to ask if he's this considerate about  _Fenris_ ' reservations about mages, but I don't want to kill this potentially relationship-building experience. I had almost forgotten that I had asked Hawke to relay this information to Merrill and Anders for me- to basically save me the emotional turmoil of having to relive that traumatic experience for the sake of informing them of my brother's volatile reaction toward mages (and, little did I know, mine as well). For their part, Anders and Merrill never let on that they knew this part of me. Guess they were just trying to be good friends and not pick at scabs.

But I'd be a liar if I said it doesn't bother me that Anders doesn't trust me to guard him to the best of my abilities because of what happened in the past. My fears have always been rather internalized, masked behind humor and flirtation. The only time I ever let on to my fear was when an apostate would use magic too close to me or when they would touch me- then, I'd physically recoil and hate myself for it later. Based on Winter's tale, however, it was never that apparent. And she was one who  _loved_  to get touchy-feely. I think she lives in Starkhaven or somewhere else in the Marches now.

My mouth feels like it's stuffed full of cotton when I say, totally on auto-pilot, "Thanks for your consideration, but I consider you a friend, so I'm not afraid of you." At my words, I see a ghost of a smile on the healer's face and his expression softens. Does it mean that much to him that  _I_  consider him a friend? I bump his arm playfully, grateful for some levity. "So,  _c_ _'mon_ , Anders. This clinic needs more than a couple of volunteers with sticks who have probably never been in a real fight before. I know the civilians who  _do_  occasionally watch over the clinic mean well, but obviously they can't get the job done right." I smirk and wink. "I was practically born for this, honey."

"I can't pay you." Anders blurts, cheeks slightly pink with shame.

I can't help but purse my lips at his immediate response. "I just called you my friend, didn't I? Did I ask about pay? This is me returning a favor. But I'm also thinking of taking on some smuggling jobs to pay for this place to get spruced up a bit. And to replace your stolen supplies." I glance around the bare clinic with mild distaste. At Anders' apprehensive look, I sigh, "Hey, I get healed here, too. I'd like for my local clinic to have the necessary supplies to stay in business."

And I also want to buy the healer a real goddamn bed. It's bugged me ever since I first met the guy. Do I have a soft spot for Anders? Hm… Not really. He's a friend (sometimes I boot him down to acquaintance status when he pisses me off) and sure he can get a little preachy, but he's saved my sorry ass on more than a few occasions despite the fact that we've butted heads. Plus, he does the neighborhood a world of good. And, as far as I know, he's the  _only_  friend I have who pretty much lives in squalor. Though Merrill is in the Alienage, she has a nice home and I've probably bought her more furniture and knick-knacks than the she knows what to do with. So in terms of friends, I've sort of neglected Anders. What a shitty friend I am.

After watching me intently, like he's peering into my soul to see my intentions, the healer nods. "All right. Deal. But only because I'm also curious about how you were even summoned in the first place. I've often wondered if it was necromancy but what you told me about your summoning is inconsistent with that magic."

_Necromancy is a legit thing here? Je-sus!_

With a pasted on smile, I force a laugh, "Hopefully we get answers, then!"


	41. Two Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** After the second page break there will be sexual content. Now, if you don't like bad smut (bad as in _bad_ , not the good kind of bad), the good thing is you won't be missing out on any plot if you choose to skip the last part of this chapter. If you were caught up with this story before the edit, this sex scene should look familiar. Also: angst, angst, angst.
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies.

**32\. Two Weeks**

"What even  _is_  this?" I groan and cup my chin in my palm, glowering down at Anders' transcription of my  _already_  transcribed notes. Listen, my handwriting isn't that bad, so I don't know why Anders is going through the effort of copying my notes in his fancy, swirling hand that makes my writing look like I tried to write with a quill between my teeth after getting shit-faced drunk. "We're just wasting time," I snip, simply oozing self-consciousness when Anders dips the dusky quill with a flourish and continues his work.

Caramel colored eyes dart toward me, glinting with irritation. "Copying down notes in my own hand makes it easier for me to absorb the knowledge. It's a process, Mina."

"God, you're one of  _those_ , huh?" My middle finger comes up to rub over the ridge of my scar, adding some warmth to it in the coolness of the empty clinic. Eyes dance around the large room and I become, for maybe the thousandth time since Anders and I have started these late-night study sessions, unsettled by the great, looming shadows that fill the space. Though I've purchased wardrobes for storage (with locks, dammit) along with more "homey" decorations for the mage, the place is still eerie at night. It's a damn shame that I still get spooked by the darkness in my early twenties. Damn shame.

"One of those?" Anders parrots, his voice serving as a warm and mildly offended beacon to guide me out of my thoughts.

"The hoity-toity scholarly type," I tease. I want to bump his elbow but think better of it when I realize he's still hastily scribbling down a copy of my notes and probably won't appreciate my childish humor. Restraint is painful. "But I guess I can't interrupt your genius, as long as you get me the answers I'm looking for," I add under my breath, thinking Anders can't hear me. Which is stupid, honestly. I think I can hear my own damn cells replicating in the silence of the clinic.

Pale brow furrows, thin strands of dirty blond hair falling into Anders' face but not distracting him from his work. The quill continues to move, scratch, scratch, scratching across the parchment. "And what if the answers aren't what you want?" The healer's voice is soft, barely a hush over the nearly oppressive silence of the clinic. I almost don't hear him over the quill against thin parchment.

After shifting uneasily in my seat, I ask through a forced, breathy laugh, "Wow. Cryptic. What do you mean by that, hm?"

A flash of brown, a quick, stolen glance that I wasn't supposed to see. "Never mind." Anders pushes away from the table to roll his shoulders and flex his hand. Pale fingers wrap around his wrist, rubbing some tension out of it. All of these movements are watched closely under my suspicious gaze. Once he notices my discomfort, the spirit healer tries to distract me. "Julian seemed upset. Did you two have another spat?"

_Nice dodge._

Yes, Julian was in a bad mood when he left a few hours ago but he's been that way since we started guarding the clinic two weeks ago. Almost immediately, the Palm knew that I was going to Anders for Summoned help, especially when I started hanging back in the clinic after hours which soured his mood significantly. His cold disposition is old news. So, clearly Anders is trying to throw me off which makes me squint at the healer. "He's been like that for a while," I point out to Anders. "He doesn't like that I'm talking to you about this stuff." I nod toward the tome and the scrolls on the table for emphasis, though it looks like I'm nodding toward all the food that's cluttered on the table's surface.

The blond mage picks at the apple slices I had set before him before quietly taking a bit of pungent cheese and eating it with a slice of ruby red fruit. There's a cup of wine for him and some bread along with oatcakes for him to eat in the morning. When I had brought all the food, Julian had accused me of mothering the healer. Even Anders had raised an eyebrow. But now the healer eats in silence, without complaint, before finally fixing me with a stern look and asking, "Why? Didn't he want you to expand your knowledge on your origins in the first place?"

"Yeah. But with  _him_ , not you." I take a sip of wine, savoring it. It's probably too sweet but I prefer not to taste any alcohol in my alcohol which allows me to get properly trashed without something like godawful flavors getting in the way. Eyes glance down at the cup in front of the healer. Anders had refused the wine but I had already poured him a cup. Oh, well. More for me. Guess I'll take the whole damn bottle home, too, while I'm at it. Too bad I didn't know Anders has some aversion to drinking or something before I turned my purse inside out for it.

"He seems to have a rather odd attachment to you." Anders seems very interested in the way the wine in his cup reflects the candlelight when he asks, "Does Hawke know how close you two are?"

_Really? Is he really going there?_

"Close?" I snort, barely hiding my derision and sudden need to dry-heave. Also, my nose now burns and all I can smell is pain and fermented grapes because I had a bit of wine left in my mouth when I decided to so elegantly snort. "Andy, please. The man is like a cousin to me, but like how us non-royal people treat cousins."

"Maybe you should tell  _him_  that before he gets confused."

I roll my eyes and insist, "There's  _nothing_  there."

"Mina," Anders starts slowly, biting his bottom lip, "you consider me your friend, don't you?"

On edge from his wary tone, I respond coolly, "Yes. But that also hinges on where this conversation goes."

Anders gives me a tight smile for my frank response. "Then as your friend, I feel it necessary to tell you that you sometimes send Hawke conflicting messages."

" _What?_ " My eyebrows are practically on the moon. "What are you getting at, Anders?"

If he was looking to distract me, it's working. The blond scratches his jaw like he's already regretting even engaging in this conversation. Well, tough shit. He brought it up first and I won't let him back out. Anders sighs, "You flirt with him and then you turn around and flirt with everyone else. You're there for him and then you walk around with a pack full of supplies like you're ready to leave again at any moment. Isabela insists that you've always been that way. However, I think you should be a bit more conscientious of Hawke's feelings."

I get the implied message: Hawke needs stability. And I'm Ms. Avoidance. Taking a deep pull from my cup, I throw Anders a bland look and quip, "Message received. I suppose if things don't work out between me and Hawke, you'll be around, waiting in the wings." I immediately want to apologize for that low blow.

_Put the claws away, tiger._

"I apologize if I overstepped my boundaries." Ignoring my insult and obviously (thankfully) done with his commentary on my love life, the blond fixes me with a grim look. He fans his notes gently, trying to get the ink to dry faster. "Now that I can read this all without squinting and asking for you to translate your shorthand, I'm afraid I still don't have anything for you that you don't already know, Mina." Anders sighs heavily, rubbing his forehead, "Again, I'm sorry."

Glossing over his barb about my note-taking (which I'll give him, because I was an asshole), I drawl disinterestedly to hide my frustration at having done two weeks of hard work and having nothing to show for it, " _Really_ _?_  I mean, I'm not surprised. Disappointed but not surprised. There are a lot of gaps in the notes because, well, you saw what I had to work with," I glance at my brother's barely legible writing which I was only able to transcribe about a meager percentage of, "so we're trying to put together a puzzle without all the pieces. Don't beat yourself up over it."

Anders gives me an almost pitying look that makes my stomach bubble. "What we do know is troubling, though, and hardly inconsequential." A thin, pale hand pushes the freshly inked notes in front of me. My gaze lingers on a dark smear of ink on the side of his hand. "So far, from what we know, a spirit with a tremendous amount of power was able to somehow pull spirits through the Veil, hold said spirits in the Fade until proper vessels could be created, and then push those spirits back through the Veil so they could inhabit those vessels."

The moment he calls the dream dragon a "spirit" I know I'm going to be rolling my eyes a lot. Why? Well, because I'm pretty damn sure Not the Dream Dragon is a freakin'  _demon_. There's no mincing words for me when it comes to that fiery-eyed bastard; the creature that ripped me from my world, used  _my_  blood to bring one of my loved ones here, and has tried to manipulate me in the Fade to get me to do whatever it wants here in the physical world. Do those sound like the actions of some kindly spirit? Don't think so. All I'm waiting for is for the bastard to try and possess me and just further cement its demonic status.

_Spirits possess people, too. Just look at Anders._

My eyes widen instinctively at that thought. "Right," I murmur, shrinking into my seat in the hopes that Anders didn't notice me randomly bugging my eyes out. If he notices, he doesn't say a thing. Actually, I've made many odd faces in his company since we started this thing. He probably thinks I regret ever opening up to him and letting him know this part of me. Truthfully, yeah, I  _am_  a little uneasy with him knowing this stuff and I have this irrational fear that he'll out me despite the fact that he's shown  _no_  signs whatsoever of wanting to do so. The fact that we still have some relatively equal leverage on one another quells that fear. What a great friendship, built on the concept of mutually assured destruction.

Not hearing me or simply ignoring me, the mage ponders, "But I wonder why a vessel- sorry, a body, had to be made for you in the first place? You hadn't been dead for very long, from what I can recall from your recollection of your death." Anders doesn't look me in the eye when he says that, turning his face away and tugging at a strand of blond hair. The first day of having Anders as my study buddy, I had recounted my murder in almost excruciating detail (leaving out my "other world" status, obviously) and I think it bothered the guy more than it bothered me. I had just sort of regurgitated the event, running on auto-pilot, pulling no punches. So, maybe the cold, detached way with which I had relived the event was what shook him up?

"Beats me," I reply curtly. "I don't pretend to know what that demon thinks."

"Spirit," Anders corrects reflexively, like he's so sure, and I roll my eyes. "Returning your spirit to your original body would certainly seem to take far less energy."

_Except Mina Classic was in another world entirely._

And then it hits me, as I watch Anders mull over this issue so seriously, brow creased, frown lines accentuated, so earnest in his desire to help me out: I need to come clean. By continuing to lie right to the man's face I'm just screwing  _myself_ over. Anders is trying to help but he  _can't_ if I'm withholding information. The fact that my original body probably wasn't a viable receptacle for my "spirit" because it was in another world (shit, I don't even know if my body was recovered back home) is a pretty big deal. Maybe bodies can't be put in the Fade? I don't freakin' know. I've only ever been there in my sleep.

"Um," I start and wince when my voice comes out high-pitched. Damn. I've always done that. When I'm going to fess up to something I get all pitchy and shifty-eyed. Apparently Anders already knows this about me, because he narrows those caramel eyes at me and his lips thin out into a hardened line. "So, you see, the thing is..." I stammer out, feeling suddenly very itchy under the mage's stern gaze, "I'm not really  _from_  here and… Um..." I trail off, scratching furiously at the nape of my neck. I'm surprised I haven't drawn blood.

"Mina," Anders starts slowly, "what didn't you tell me?"

"I died in another world." I blurt it out, complete word vomit, before I stop myself and come up with a more delicate way to break the news, like with finger guns. Well, quick like a band-aid, I guess. But the way Anders watches me with such an expressionless face makes me wish I had just kept up the ruse and let him flounder around in the dark about the whys of my sacrificial meat-suit. Sometimes, lying is easier. So much easier. And these lies? About my origins? They feel like a necessity. And I know for a  _fact_  I won't tell a soul about Mike's "Dragon Age" knowledge, especially since that's not my secret to tell.

_And it would probably land him in hot water._

After a century of silence, the blond murmurs, "I suppose I should have guessed- rather, I should have known all along. You always say the strangest things and seem to lack even a rudimentary knowledge of social and cultural norms. Truthfully, I just thought you were awkward or uneducated."

_Rude._

"I'll have you know I went to college," I snap, feeling my cheeks quickly heating up at his insinuation. "Yeah, I didn't graduate but… I mean, I  _would've_. Eventually. Had I not kicked it."

"So, knowing this," Anders cuts me with a withering look and I lose all desire to continue trying to defend my intellect, "we must approach the issue from an entirely different angle altogether."

Shoulders bob up and down as I try to redeem myself. "Can physical things even enter the Fade, though? If they can't then we have our answer: my new body was a necessity. Or I could've been a cool ghost. Or would that be a poltergeist? Which one rattles chains?"

"It's not common for people to physically enter the Fade, but… maybe." Anders' blond head ducks in a nod, totally ignoring my ghost talk.

"But, because this  _spirit_  is so powerful, it could have brought my body through? That could've been an option?" I query. "Damn. Hope it's a good spirit." I add jokingly but it falls flat when I see the serious look on Anders' face.

Anders seems hesitant to make any claims. He had stared at me for a long, long time when he got to the bit about "Old Gods" in Mike's notes last week and wouldn't answer me when I prodded him about Mike's mentioning about "the Call," so I half expect that he's going to simply end our session rather than respond; leaving me hanging for the second time since we started all this. Needless to say, I'm surprised when he actually says haltingly and at great length, "The spirit is strong, there's no denying that."

"And about its nature? Good? Bad? In-between?" I press him for an answer, tone light and joking even as I start to feel a bit dizzy. "Two-thirds good? A quarter bad? Like, all neutral but an eighth 'naughty'?"

"It must either be neutral in intent... or malevolent." Those caramel eyes root me to the spot.

I have the sneaking suspicion he threw neutrality in for my sake, considering his bias against blood magic. Hell, when I brought up bonding and claiming, Anders wrote it all off as blood magic mumbo jumbo used to control demons and to pervert spirits. Apparently it wasn't as shocking to him as it was (and is) to me. I guess because all that shit can be done  _to me_  and not  _him_ , but whatever. My point is that his bias against blood magic has caused him to pull no punches in revealing the grisly details of my existence, so his hesitance in this regard unsettles me more than anything.

A shaky laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. "Don't lie to me."

Anders looks genuinely concerned now, blond eyebrows knitted together and face creased with worry. He reaches forward like he's going to grab my hand and comfort me, but thinks better of it when he sees the deadly calm expression I'm wearing. "It  _could_  be benevolent, though blood magic is a strange means for good. The spirit could have been providing those whose life ended too early with another chance to live in this world." He knows that's a stretch. He's reaching so far for my sake that I'm surprised he hasn't pulled a muscle. 'Cause _c'mon_. Giving people another chance at life? After requiring a literal blood sacrifice from dozens of unwilling victims?

I can't help but snort. " _Yeah_ , except it very clearly has its own plans in mind for the people it brought over. If I do something for someone out of the kindness of my own blackened little heart, I don't ask for anything in return- I'm not looking to get anything out of it. This isn't..." I run my hand through my hair, tug at the small bun at the nape of my neck, "I think we're done for today. Right now, we're just going to travel down a rabbit hole of speculations. We need to find someone who can read that friggin' book so we don't jump to any conclusions."

"The book bound in skin?" Anders queries, brow quirked.

I've just picked up my cup of wine and put it to my lips, ready to take a nice, calming sip when he says it. I stare. I think I stare for too long. "Animal skin, right?"

"No, Mina."

I take in a deep breath before saying on the exhale, "Son of  _bitch!_ " I slam the cup down and a drop of red wine hops out to splash against the table. Anders frowns disapprovingly and moves his notes out of the immediate splatter zone. I hiss, "Why didn't you tell me? I've been touching that thing and then touching my face for days now! I-" I cut myself off with a strangled, disgusted gasp, "I touched it, touched my food, and then put that food  _in my mouth!_ "

Anders' mouth threatens to quirk up into a smile but he wisely chooses to fight it off. "I thought you could tell. And had I seen you touching the tome and then your food, I would have at least mentioned it!" He adds unhelpfully.

"Cheesus Crust! That just seals the deal, huh? That answers that. That's… No  _good_  spirit has its user manual made out of people skin!" I glower at the cliché. The cup of wine is brought back up to my grimacing lips and I take a shallow breath before taking a deep pull from it. Sugar doesn't even taste sweet now. It's like all I can taste is what I imagine human (Or elven, dwarven,  _Vashoth_?) skin tastes like, which my disgusting and limited imagination likens to beef jerky. A gag is swallowed down with bile and wine.

"It  _could_  be animal skin… Maybe nug?"

I stop chugging my wine long enough to spit, "Thanks but no thanks, Andy. That's a comforting lie that I won't be buying today."

Anders sighs at my theatrics and begins to tidy up the table. He carefully places the book in question back into my knapsack along with the notes. I notice that he keeps his own transcription, but I'm not about to deny him that even if a little voice in the back of my head says that's a bad idea. It's past midnight, I'm sure. Maybe three in the morning. The healer insists I take the bottle of wine with me. When I try to get him to keep it, he says, "There's really no point to it. Justice doesn't let me get drunk anymore."

My reaction is to laugh like he just told a joke I didn't understand. I  _laugh_. Anders keeps his expression pleasantly neutral (with a hint of fatigue) but I know that my knee-jerk reaction was the worst thing I could've done. It's a bit funny that my hypocritical self is still so weirded out about Anders being possessed by a sentient thing that clearly influences his actions and the guy hasn't even made a snide comment about me being the product of a sacrificial ritual. Cheeks flush in shame. I've been quiet for too long after that bark of laughter left my lips. Taking the bottle from him, I shoot the mage a quick, forced smile and drawl, "Ah… Okay. Promise I won't drink on the way home since  _I_  can still get drunk. The 'spirit' hasn't taken that from me yet."

_Just… Why do you_ never _shut up?_

"Will I be seeing you tomorrow?" Anders asks, mercifully glossing over my double social faux pas.

"Unfortunately, no. I have a smuggling job." I glance at him over my shoulder as I exit the clinic, the healer on my heels. The bottle of wine isn't even a quarter of the way gone so it's uncomfortably heavy for walking home alone in a crime-riddled area. It'll be hard to brandish my Lord if the need arises. Guess I could use a dagger or, hell, the damn bottle of wine as a weapon if worse comes to worse. But the hefty price tag prompts me to toss away the idea before it can take root.

Anders sighs when I turn on my heel to bid him a proper goodbye once I'm beyond the clinic's threshold. "I really wish you wouldn't smuggle. At least, not for my sake." He looks older in this limited light. The combined light of faint yellow candlelight and blue moonlight conflicts, warm and cool, accentuating the healer's frown lines and the creases in his brow. He leans against the door-frame, posture sagging and exhausted, and I suddenly feel worn out and very much aware of the hour.

"Pfft! C'mon, Anders, it's all worth it just to see that my baby has nice things." I tease and reach forward to pinch the blond's cheek before smoothing out the ruffled feathers of his disheveled mantle, earning an irritated scowl and a faint blush from my mage companion who half-heartedly swats my hand away. "Lighten up. Like I said before, doing this assuages some of my guilt for being a shitty person. At least when I smuggle illegal garbage into the city, I bring supplies to a clinic, too. So, while I feed someone's drug addiction I also play a role in someone getting their guts put back inside them."

"You aren't a bad person," Anders mumbles under his breath. "Anyway, be safe. If not for yourself then to make sure I'm not stuck with  _Julian_  as the only clinic guard on duty."

"Yeah, yeah." I shake my head at his request. "And I'll talk to Hawke about what we've discussed, don't worry. I don't need a lecture."

"Lecture?"

"Yeah, Mr. Busybody. I know you want everyone to be truthful." There's a flash of guilt on his face and my mouth threatens to tick down into a frown. The bottle of wine feels heavier. I take a step back, an unassuming smile on my face. "So… I'll tell him what's up, buttercup."

The healer runs a hand through his mussed blond hair, tension evident in his body but he tries to pass it off as exhaustion with a stifled yawn, which affords him the opportunity to hide his mouth behind his fist as he says, "While I agree with you being truthful, maybe it would be best if you held off on telling him about anything that is purely speculation?" Brown eyes peer at me intently- not tired, not even close- full of something akin to trepidation.

"I guess." I shrug dismissively. "Later, Anders."

"Farewell, Mina."

* * *

Kirkwall isn't even quiet in the dead of night. Little noises from black voids that are alleyways add a nervous pep to my step, makes me swing the bottle of wine back and forth like I don't have a care in the world when in reality I'm giving the somewhat heavy bottle enough momentum to deal a devastating blow to someone's head at any moment. A stray cat darts out of an alley and rockets past me, prompting me to halt in my steps and bite down on my bottom lip in an effort not to scream like a little girl. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly, steadily. I shake my head at my nerves and continue on home.

_Why are you so keyed up?_

Oh, shut up. I  _know_  why. Before I freaked out about the nature of the beast- I mean, dragon- Anders made a strange remark about people being able to physically enter the Fade. It's uncommon, he said, but with enough power… Okay, so hypothetically speaking, the dragon  _could've_  brought my body here. But it didn't. Instead, it had Carrow kill a bunch of people and then made my current body out of lots and lots of dead people.  _Why?_  What would even be the point of that? Unless the dragon isn't powerful enough to do anything other than shuffle around spirits… And I say that like ripping spirits from other worlds is something to thumb my nose at.

Hypothetically or not, I'm in a shit situation- as shituation, if you will. Either way I'm at the mercy of some powerful being with an "ambiguous" nature and unknown intentions. I'm this thing's creation, its pawn in whatever little game it wants to play. And so are Mike, Kiri, and Julian. However, Julian is a  _willing_  pawn- bending over backwards to do whatever his earwig says. Mike is too, to a certain extent. Julian fed him his dragon master's plan and my brother ate it up. Steven? God, I've never known what that guy is thinking. I've never been in a position to pretend to, either, so I'll hold off on  _that_  speculation. But there's something that's bugging me. Why would Mike give-

"Hey there, sweet thing. Didn't expect to run into you at this hour."

_Shit!_

Heart leaps into my throat as I struggle to grab the bottle of wine out of the air after I launched it sky high like a rocket with a shrill shriek. Red liquid splashes across my face and I sputter, cradling the cool glass to my chest, "Jesus, Cap! Don't do that! You almost made me drop my wine!" I knew who had approached me the second I heard her voice, but that didn't keep my neurotic self from reacting rather violently to the sudden and much too loud greeting.

Isabela slinks toward me from the shadows of an alley, barely holding back a laugh. "Wine, hm?" Those brown eyes flicker down to the bottle in my arms and her lips curve into a smile. I offer her the bottle without needing to be asked and she thanks me before taking a healthy swig. Immediately, she brings the back of her hand to her mouth and shakes her head furiously before swallowing audibly. "Ugh! You  _would_  buy something like this." Isabela hands back the wine, well, practically throws it at me. "Just because something is expensive, that doesn't mean it's worth it, love."

" _Excuse_  you," I sniff derisively and take a drink as well, "but this is some good shit. Nice and sweet-"

"I believe that wine passed sweet a long time ago. I think the proper term is  _saccharine_." Is simpers patronizingly, jutting out her hip as she crosses her arms under her breasts. Watching the way the muscles flex in her arms, I notice that there's a smattering of faint red dots across her left breast. At first I think it's blood but then I realize it's the result of my jumpy antics- while I got a faceful of wine, Isabela got a few drops on her because she was in the splash zone. Now I look down at  _myself_  to see that I'm basically wearing a tie-dye shirt. Damn.

Gesturing toward the stain, I chuckle lightly, "Sorry about that, Cap."

Her brow furrows and she glances down at the splatter before rolling her eyes. Isabela looks like she's about to lecture me when her face stills. "Have you spoken to Hawke?" Isabela suddenly asks, expression way too innocent. Something sinister glimmers in her brown eyes and I'm immediately on edge.

"No, I haven't seen him in weeks. Why? What's up?" I find that I'm running the tip of my index finger around the mouth of the bottle anxiously.

The pirate sighs heavily, looking thoroughly frustrated. "Being friends with you both is rather annoying, you know. Things were a lot easier when it was just you and me."

_What's that supposed to mean?_

Mouth opens, hesitates, before I demand, "Elaborate." When I realize how rude that sounded, I sputter, "P-Please."

_You sounded so cool and then… Dammit..._

She winks, barely holding back a snort, "Can't. Sorry, love."

" _Are_ you sorry?" I roll my eyes when her smile widens. "Because you look pretty pleased with yourself right now."

"I'm sorry enough. You really  _should_  talk to Hawke, though. The sooner the better for you both." Warm brown eyes glance up at the moon, the moonlight glinting off of her golden piercing. She sticks her tongue into her cheek before simpering, "Well, I really should be going. Places to be and all that. It's late and  _Aveline_  has a curfew in place."

"Wait! You can't just say something like that and leave! Isabela!" I swear she's a ghost with how she slips through my fingers, a teasing grin on her lips as she turns on her heel and dashes away down the road. "Dammit. You're lucky I don't throw my boot at your head! I've got pretty good aim!" I call after her, earning myself a dismissive wave and a faint "No, you don't!" before she's out of sight.

If I wasn't totally wiped out, I might entertain the idea of giving chase. But Isabela is crazy fast and I'm… a mess. My bad knee keeps me from being able to break into a sprint at any given moment and Slicer is pretty damn heavy when I think about it. Bah. Excuses, excuses. Now I'll be stuck thinking about Isabela being all cryptic during my job. Speaking of which, I need to get home and get some sleep before the smuggling gig (especially since my temporary employers are complete jackals in the smuggling community). Turning on my heel, I head home with a heavy, defeated sigh.

_Just stop thinking about everything. You're good at repressing stuff._

Sometimes I forget that someone lives with me. Sometimes, back in my old life, I'd forget I had a cat and would jump, swearing profusely, when I'd come home to some bulbous creature sitting expectantly in front of the door, a death glare on its smushed face. The funny thing is, the image is pretty much the same when I open the front door to my little slice of dusty Lowtown heaven. The brunet sitting at the table frowns at me as soon as I'm inside, expression a mixture between expectant and totally pissed. I smile tiredly, glad for the warmth of the fireplace. "Hey, Julian."

"You know why you picked him, right?" Julian spits dramatically, making me feel like I just walked in on an entirely different conversation and also reminding me of this really obnoxious dude in my high school drama club who acted like William Shatner on the daily. I can already tell this is going to be tiring. Guess I'd better get some food in me before I say something exceptionally rude to the crass man who is easily offended. Because I've definitely been on a roll when it comes to insulting people today.

Wiped out from all-day guard detail and from having had to confront the nature of the dream dragon (whom Julian sings the praises of almost constantly), I barely glance Julian's way as I sit at the table, throwing my bag down onto the table and resting my Lord next to it. I pour myself a proper cup of wine and set the bottle next to my cup. After making sure the bread I left out doesn't have little rat nibbles taken out of it, I stuff some in my mouth and ask around the stale bread, "Who and what are you talking about, Jules?"

"You're talkin' to Andy about the Summoned- about  _us_!" He accuses, tone venomous. The look of betrayal on his face doesn't go unnoticed by me. Realizing that this is a touchy subject for the Palm, I decide to be kind and not throw it in his face that he has so far been a pretty shitty Summoned tutor for me. Just like I said I would, I had tried to talk to Julian about the Summoned since he had made it seem like he was open and willing to discuss that bull. But when I approached him, he was standoffish and frugal with his words, leaving me with no other option than to look to an outside source for knowledge.

"What part of my little meetings with Anders concerns you?" I ask, emulating my mother's cold, detached, and almost patronizing way of weeding out a person's problems. She would do it often when I had got upset and she wasn't high as a kite. It was almost like someone flipped a switch in her- she'd go from being all manic and neurotic to almost emotionless. Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I probe, "Is it the fact that I'm talking about the Summoned with someone who isn't one of us or is it that I've turned to him  _instead of you?_ "

Julian throws himself back against his chair across from me and spits, "I'm not jealous! You could've asked any mage friend of yours for help because you have the privilege of being allied with perhaps the smartest mages in the entire fuckin' city- yes, smarter than the city's paltry excuse for a First Enchanter, too."

"How do you know about the First Enchanter?" I query, derailed from our conversation. "I've never even met the guy. I've only caught glimpses of him butting heads with dear old Meredith."

Julian waves me off. "Merrill would've been happy to help. She's busy but she would've dropped everything for ya. Garrett?" Julian pauses and rubs his cheek. "Well, you've already established to him that you have very clear and defined boundaries regardin' your warped sense of independence. But you chose Andy 'cause out of  _all_  your mage allies he's the one you would feel the least bad about hurtin' should you happen to lose control. Admit it."

_How does he know what everyone is up to- Wait. What?_

"What? No! That's not it at all! What kind of accusation is  _that_?" I scoff, nearly choking on bread. When my mind tries to broach the subject, to see if there's an ounce of truth to his speculation, I shove myself mentally and bodily away from it. Looming over the Palm, I hiss, "What the hell is your damage, Julian? Why so testy? Upset that I'm constantly around to run interference between you and my mage friends? Because you want to sink your dirty little hooks into one of them, hm?"

_So much for being cool and not insulting._

His brown eyes widen at that. "What's with the baseless accusa-"

" _Are_  they baseless, though?" I wonder, putting on a mask of genuine curiosity. "I still don't know why you're really here because you've sure done a hell of a job 'teaching' me about Summoned. So at this point, when it comes to you, I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, Julian. Excuse me if I hold you at arm's length to shield myself from your inevitable betrayal."

"I would  _never_  betray you!" Julian insists, almost desperate.

"So say you and my brother. But actions speak louder than words."

"Steven brought me to you. He  _trusted_  me to take care of you. Doesn't that tell you somethin'?"

I roll my eyes at his name-dropping. "Not that I hate Kiriyama or anything, but I find it hard to rely on someone whose visits are fewer and less helpful than a damn Microsoft Office paperclip. So his 'trust' in you isn't enough for me, Jules."

"But you should-"

"Do you know anything about the mage I encountered on the beach?" It comes out suddenly. I think Julian's insistence on his trustworthiness sort of makes all my doubts about him come rushing forth like a geyser. Up until this point I hadn't had the opportunity to confront him about his evasiveness regarding the mage on the Wounded Coast because we were constantly on our toes at the clinic. Now that I think about it, his sudden reluctance to be my Summoned tutor  _probably_  stemmed from his avoidance of the topic of the beach mage. Well, there's no avoiding it now.

Julian's reaction plays out exactly as I imagined it would. Brown eyes darken, turn shifty. His pouty mouth arcs down into a grimace and he stutters out, "Wh-What? I don't know nothin' about that shit, kid."

"Double negative." I deadpan. "And I  _know_  you know something because your usual rambunctious self got awfully quiet when I started going into detail about what you thought was a simple apostate."

"You're bein' paranoid, Mina." Julian sneers.

A harsh scoff hurts my throat as it leaves me. "No, I'm not. So, until you tell me what you know about some bug-eyed mage who knew a  _surprising_  amount about Summoned, I'm not trusting you as far as I can throw you, Kiriyama's blessing or no."

"I'm-" Julian stammers, eyes all round like he's going to make another emotional plea for my trust, when suddenly he goes rigid. Those brown eyes darken further, almost turning black, narrowing into slits as he looks at something just to the right of me. The air seems to leave the room. "What the fuck is that?"

Confused, I follow his gaze to the contents of my bag that have spilled a bit onto the table from my carelessness. There's a change of clothes, the tome mostly obscured by an ashy gray tunic (I'll need to burn those clothes later and not think of how Anders was right about me walking around like I'm ready to dip), and a few tightly wound scrolls peek out. I don't know if Julian is talking about the scrolls or the tome, but before I can ask for clarification he's standing abruptly and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

He stops when he gets to the door, reaches out like he means to leave, but allows his hand to fall back to his side. His back is to me, hands clenched into fists. "Why do you have that book? Where'd ya get it?"

I glance warily at the tome with a grimace. "Michael gave it-"

Julian's voice rings through the small room. "Ha! Wow! Of fuckin'  _course_  he would!" He rounds on me, takes a few menacing steps toward me and away from the door before spitting, "And lemme guess: you let Anders put his little paws all over it, huh? Let him touch a relic and  _read_  it? He doesn't deserve it!  _You_  don't deserve it!"

"What in the world are you going on about?" I ask, tone clipped. It's a struggle not to blow my top with him yelling at me. I've always been quick to anger when people start raising their voice and condescending me.

"I admit… Now?  _Now_  I'm jealous." Julian chuckles humorlessly before ripping a dagger from his belt. I recognize it from the job on the Wounded Coast, the green one that he said isn't for fighting. Guess he was lying. Immediately, I'm ghosting my fingers over my Lord's hilt, blindly reaching my hand out behind me. Dark eyes roll. "Oh, don't be so damn dramatic. I'm not gonna kill ya."

"Then what-?" I cut myself off with a rather embarrassing noise the second Julian's green dagger shimmers like a heatwave across scorching hot pavement. Slowly, the dagger becomes thicker, shorter, until it's something else altogether. In his small hand, where the dagger once was, Julian holds a fat little book. Blunted fingernails dig into the soft looking brown leather, leaving pale crescents. Dark eyes stare down at the book in his hand for a moment before piercing me.

_What the-? What the_ hell?

"What's that?" I rasp stupidly, voice a little ragged from choking on my own spit in shock.

"My summoners were the only ones I knew who ever saw that book of yours. The only people who'd seen it in  _centuries_. It took so much for me to kill them. God it- I almost died to get it. And now you've got the original- the real deal. And you didn't do a fuckin' thing to earn it. You just  _showed up!_  That's all it took! You bat your little lashes and He throws you a fuckin' bone when He didn't speak to me for decades! When you still slander Him! When you continue to deny Him!" Julian runs his fingers through his hair before violently throwing the book at me. I barely react in enough time to catch it. Had I been off by a split-second, I'm sure I'd have a busted up mouth from getting nailed in the face with a damn book.

The leather is as soft as it looks and I glance down at it before asking, "Julian, are you telling me that you know what the book says? Can you transla-"

"Fuck you!" His voice rips through the air, violent and clamoring. "And ya know what? Fuck  _Him!_  Because He's still here, whisperin' like you're even gonna fuckin' listen. Pathetic. You're just-" Julian's upper lip twitches, eyes wide with anger, "Argh! Forget it!"

Before I can react, he whirls around and storms out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. For a while, all I can hear is that loud bang before the crackle of the fireplace can be heard again. Eyes drop from the door to the book in my hands. I turn the small thing around in my hands, furrowing my brow at what looks like something in French stamped into the soft leather of the spine. Out of curiosity, I flip the book open only to find that it's… in French, I think. No.  _Orlesian_. Now I wish I had taken French in high school. I glance back at the door. "What the hell was that about?"

_He's jealous._

At that thought, I roll my eyes. Jealous of what? That my own brother gifted me with a gross book in another language? Why would he even think that Mike would hand the book over to- Wait. Julian wasn't talking about my brother. He said that the same "he" who gave me the book was trying to talk to me… I think? It's hard to keep up with Julian when he tosses around pronouns like they're going out of style. Opening the book again, I glare at the tight, neat handwriting like I can intimidate it into translating itself into the common tongue. If only it were so easy. With an irritated sigh, I put the book down on the table and turn away.

Though I said I would go and have a kumbaya talk with Hawke about my origins, I actually don't have the time for that. I hadn't planned on my study session with Anders lasting so long, so I'm running on borrowed time as I empty my bag out like there's a spider hiding in there and delicately tuck the disgusting tome into my armoire under some clothes along with all the Summoned notes. Packing hastily, I'm in my own little world when I hear a knock on the front door. At first I think it's Julian come back to apologize for having a hissy fit and accidentally locking himself out.

I have a swear ready on my tongue but nearly choke on it when I throw open the door to see a tall, lithe figure swathed in an elegant black cloak standing on my doorstep. A pale face peers at me with molten gold eyes from the darkness, looking haunting and ethereal. Moonlight reflects off of a golden staff, casting an odd light on my visitor's shaggy dark hair. When I've stared in silence for far too long, the mage's pale cheeks turn pink and he shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Hawke!" Before I can stop myself, I propel myself at the dark haired mage. All is silent. I'm as still as a statue. My brain tells me to let go and step away. I'm just about to comply with that very rational order when two arms wrap around me, one across my shoulder blades and the other around my waist. Breath catches in my throat. Given non-verbal consent, I allow myself to bury my face in the man's chest. It's been two whole weeks since I've seen him. I hadn't even realized that I missed him so much until I laid eyes on him. Kinda want to punch myself when I sigh just that into his chest, "I missed you."

There's a gentle pressure on the top of my head, a kiss, before Hawke replies, "And I you, Mina. So very, very much."

_Oh, geez._

I'm not all that accustomed to strange, fluttery feelings that are dangerously close to some sincere form of attachment that could come back to bite me in the ass. Face flushed, I reluctantly pull away and grin. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Finally need me?" It's his turn to flush, but not because he's emotionally stunted like me. No. He's blushing at my insinuation that he's here for a booty call. Ugh. That's too crass for my prim and proper partner. I'm sure he's the type to call it "love making" which is repulsive to someone like me. Just thinking about it makes me squirm.

_You've got more issues than Time magazine._

I roll my eyes at my own mental joke and Hawke mistakenly thinks the gesture is directed at him. The mage straightens his back and announces, "I just wanted to stop by and see if you and Anders had made any headway in your research."

"O-Oh." I glance out into the night behind him. "So early in the morning?"

"I just finished a job with Varric and needed Anders to take a look at Varric's hand when he informed me that you had just left." Seeing my narrowed eyes, he hastens to say, "It was nothing serious. Varric is fine."

"Good." When the silence lasts too long and I realize it's a little weird to have Hawke just standing outside, I step aside and say awkwardly, "Come in and have some wine."

"I-" Hawke glances up and down my figure and my jaw tightens when I realize I'm still wearing my stained top. "Thank you." The mage enters and I slowly close the door behind him, watching suspiciously as he stiffly walks over to the table like he's walking on eggshells and has never been inside my house before. Hawke sits down carefully and waits for me. I don't lock the door, unsure if Julian is coming back later or not. I warn Hawke that Isabela and I have both had a drink directly from the bottle and he insists through tight lips that he doesn't mind.

After pouring him a cup, I sit back and murmur, "To answer your question… Anders and I haven't had much luck concerning my research. By the way, can you read Orlesian?"

Hawke takes a sip of the wine and his face goes still. He swallows slowly and exhales softly through his nose before putting on a neutral expression and responding thickly, "I'm afraid I cannot. Why do you ask?"

I reach forward and mercifully take the cup from him. "Everyone is so damn picky about their wine. Anyway, it was too much to hope for that you knew Orlesian." I gesture to the book Julian had thrown at me, "I was trying to read  _that_."

The book rests on the table between us and Hawke glances up at me. "May I?" I nod and he gently picks it up, examining the small thing. Golden eyes raze over the stamp I had looked over, gloved thumb tracing over the indentation. Hawke furrows his brow, fingers straining against the cover of the book, before slowly sliding it back to me across the table. "It's sealed with blood magic."

"What?" I ask, mouth full of Hawke's rejected wine.

"I can't open it." Hawke explains.

"That's weird. I can do it." I open the book and close it several times to demonstrate. "See?"

The corner of his mouth twitches, fighting off a smile. "Yes, I can see that."

It's more than a little weird that this innocuous little book is sealed with blood magic, but when I think about how the thing came into my possession, well… I realize it shouldn't be too surprising that it's steeped in blood magic after all. The thing was a damn dagger not even an hour ago, for crying out loud! Irritated at having run into  _yet another wall_ , I suck on my teeth and knock back some more wine, which I'm beginning to think is just grape juice because I'm not getting buzzed  _at all_. And I really want to get buzzed because Hawke is here which means I need to  _confess_.

Confess? Yes, confess. The fact that I'm not even from this place is a pretty big deal. And I really owe it to Hawke to be truthful and up front with him (before Anders can get on my back again). Hell, I've told him almost everything already, so what could it hurt? Still, all my attempts at rationalizing don't keep me from feeling like I'm going to be sick. Much to Hawke's growing annoyance, I can't stop bobbing my right knee up and down as we sit quietly. When he can take no more of my neurotic behavior, Hawke questions, "What's on your mind? You seem troubled."

I chance a glance to find him staring. "It's nothing."

"Mina."

"Okay, it's  _something_."

"Are you comfortable sharing?" He coaxes.

Reluctantly, I look at him. I resolve to do this quick and dirty. "I've been lying to you, Hawke. Maybe not outright lying, but lying by omission all the same. And that's not fair when you've been so open with me." The words sound okay. It sounds better than how I started with Anders. But the look Hawke gives me?

_Well, his expression is just a dagger in the gut, isn't it_?

Hawke looks disappointed in me and it kills me. His golden eyes look at me sagely and I want to scream when he begins to  _console_  me, "I'm sure you had your reasons."

I snap, "Okay, you're the most uptight, morally upright person I know, Hawke. Does having a really good reason absolve  _everyone_  of their 'sins' in your eyes or are you just making an exception for me?" He won't look me in the eye and I sigh, "Thought so. It's just... I need to be honest. I've been told that a key component to a successful relationship is honesty, even though being honest sometimes sucks eggs."

"Mina, if you're uncomfortable telling me-"

I hold up my hand. "Don't give me an out, Hawke. I need to tell you the truth, so here it goes: I'm..." Just do it quick and dirty, remember? "I'm from another world." Dead silence. Shit. I killed nosy, preachy Hawke's incessant need to comment on my life in just one sentence. Fantastic. My neck is hot. It's quiet. It's not like with Anders  _at all_. At least Anders almost immediately started talking. The silence is literally killing me. Honest, I feel like someone is slowly peeling my skin off and lightly dusting salt over my exposed flesh.

I've probably gnawed my bottom lip off by the time Hawke queries in a neutral tone, "Another world?"

"Yeah. I swear I'm not crazy!" I blurt, grateful for the break in silence.

"What was this other world like?" Hawke asks slowly, tone still neutral and not betraying a single emotion.

I shrug, not really knowing how to answer that and feeling very much on edge since he's gone full golem. "Different.  _Very_  different."

"How so?" He wonders and I want to scream because he's  _still_  a blank slate.

I ignore the panicky feelings that tighten in my chest. It's almost like I'm about to have a panic attack at Hawke going golem on me. He only does that when… well… when he doesn't trust someone. I clear my throat, try to clear the uneasy feeling from my chest. "Too many ways to list in one night, but I guess I'll just mention some big ones. Um, we didn't have dragons. Actually, we  _kinda_  had dragons at one point but they weren't really… Know what? Never mind. No magic, either." I shrug. "Oh, and there were only humans."

The mage squints at me, looking bewildered, and I'm relieved to see an expression of  _something_  on his face. "Only humans?"

Slowly relaxing, I nod. "Aside from animals and other non-magical creatures, yup. But we still found a way to persecute each other. Gotta satisfy that insatiable desire to have an 'other.'" I rub my scar when I realize how intensely he's staring at me. I find myself rambling. "Life was pretty okay there. I was going to college and I had a job- actually several, some things never change. I had a roof over my head and some close friends. It was nice. Life was good."

Golden eyes soften, locking onto mine. "Do you miss it?"

"Like crazy. But... I like this life, too. It took a while to adjust and sometimes I miss my old life something fierce, but this life is a good one, all things considered. Y'know, what with me barely qualifying as human and being a mind-probing magic leech and all that." I tack on that self-deprecating joke, half-thinking.

Hawke is silent for a second before confessing, "I'm glad you told me all of this. I'm happy, elated even, that you trusted me enough to tell me this." To my surprise, the mage reaches over and grabs my hand. I feel like I might combust: relieved, exhausted, nervous. "Thank you." He says softly.

I wrench my hand away in shock. "Why are you  _thanking_  me? Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Reward me for being a decent person."

"I'm not rewarding you." The mage sits back in his chair and fixes me with a stern look. "Is it so wrong of me to find joy in you opening up to me and being honest with me?"

_Joy? Is that what he calls it?_

After fidgeting under his gaze, I sigh, "Dammit. Okay, so I overreacted. It's a bad habit. Well, more like I was guilt-tripping myself and have a bit of a chip on my shoulder as a result, so I was sorta expecting you to eject me from your life. Heck, I would've."

"I wouldn't ever 'eject' you from my life." Hawke announces. "We all have our secrets and you usually only keep the ones that you believe will do you harm if revealed. I can understand why you would keep this information in particular a secret. Who would believe you? If you revealed it, someone might think you insane. Fortunately, I can envision you being from another world." Garrett tilts his head to the side, surveying me closely. "You're almost ethereal."

I huff and look away, feeling my cheeks heating up. I vow that I won't look at him lest I break out into a full-on blush and make a fool of myself. "Wow. Are you flirting with me?" I murmur. "And I'll be honest, it's surprising that you took that little revelation all in stride. You know, not everyone would put so much faith in some hooligan like me."

He chuckles. "You've always been there for me, Mina. I know it seems like I must say it so often that it has lost all meaning, but I  _do_  mean it. And, well..." Hawke starts suddenly, hesitantly, and I immediately break my vow as I turn to stare at him. My gaze makes him blush, which actually makes me less tense. "I have a serious question for you. I was going to ask you before you revealed your secret, so I can assure you this isn't me trying to 'reward' you or anything so perverse."

"Perverse? Now you've got my attention." Curious, I drawl, " _Go on_."

"I admire you greatly and enjoy your company above all else. I know that I have made it very obvious that I've come to care for you a great deal- a considerable amount, actually." Hawke clears his throat, "Recently you have made comments regarding, ah, well... You see, I hope that I have not read too much into them... The comments, I mean." His face is as red as a fire hydrant as he forces himself to look me in the eye and ask, "Would you like to stay the night with me some time? It doesn't have to be now, of course! Just… I know you're very busy. We could plan an evening and…" Hawke trails off.

I raise my eyebrows. "I mean, I'm not doing anything now. You want to sleep here tonight?" And then I realize how naive I sound because I literally get his meaning the second I ask that. Of course Hawke doesn't mean sleeping! What the  _hell_  is wrong with me? Who the hell plans a simple sleep over days in advance? Well, in my defense, who the hell plans out sex? Then again, this  _is_  Hawke we're talking about so I wouldn't expect anything less than the guy wanting to schedule sex down to the second.

He's so incredibly red. "I don't mean to be too bold, but I had hoped to do more than sleep."

_Good lord._

Normally, I'd say yes in a heartbeat. I always joke about this. It's a vital part of my teasing, just another way to mess with Hawke since it never fails to fluster him. But something is different. Truly I can't deny that I have some pretty strong feelings for the mage; I care for him, would kill for him (disturbing how that qualifies as affection, I know), and am certainly attracted to his peculiar brand of broodiness and heroism mixed with his sometimes obnoxious piety. My lips are suddenly dry and my throat feels too tight as I try to swallow my doubt and fear. Instead, I swallow more grape juice.

I find myself blurting, "After everything I just told you about myself, you still want to settle for me?" I wince once the words leave me, betraying my low self-worth.

_Hear that? That's the sound of instant regret._

That remark earns me a stern frown. "I'm hardly  _settling_ , Mina. I've tried to make my feelings for you perfectly clear." I don't know what to say. He takes my silence to mean something else entirely. "I don't mean to tie you down-"

"This  _isn't_  about tying me down," I sigh in exasperation. "What does sex mean to you, Hawke? Because I think it might mean different things to us."

He furrows his brow. "Truly? It means commitment to me." When he sees the alarm flash across my face, he continues, "I know you don't want to commit to me, Mina. You don't have to justify yourself. If having relations is something... recreational for you, I understand and respect that. I won't ask for anything more from you but I do want you to know that if we do go down that path together, I will only be with you."

"Aw, dammit!" I hiss before I can stop myself.

Hawke's frown deepens. "Is there something else that concerns you?"

" _No._ "

"Are you certain?"

Obviously something else concerns me! I didn't think that today, of all days, I'd have to confront my commitment issues. Honestly, I was hoping to avoid this day for as long as possible. Hell, I could've died happily without even attempting to resolve this deep-seated issue. But Garrett Hawke is… too nice, even for a golem. He's been accepting and supportive, helpful and  _present_. He doesn't deserve anything less in return. And that? That's a tall order. That means I can't just run when things get hard. I can't do that anymore. My fallback will be gone.

_Breathe…_

I ball my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "I have a tendency to be a bit standoffish when it comes to stuff like this. Hell, I think my avoidance of commitment is probably notorious in our little circle, judging by some comments I've received. But I don't want you getting things confused because of that, Hawke. I want to be with you as..." I've begun aggressively tugging at my cowl now, "as something serious, Hawke."

"What are you saying?"

"Oh, Jesus," I murmur. "This isn't a marriage proposal but it  _is_  a proposal." That makes his face turn bright red and I shake my head angrily at my stupidity, "That's not what I- Things between us have been going well,  _really_  well. And I've been thinking that- Hawke-" I nearly choke on his name. Just say it. Just  _say it_! "You mean a lot to me and I... yeah, sure, sex." Why? Why?  _Why?_

Why am I like this? I'm feeling many levels of stupid right now, stumbling over my words to seduce Paragon Hawke like I've never been with anyone before. Well, I've never been with anyone and had it  _mean_  something before. So, I feel painfully dumb to the point that I desperately wish life had a rewind button that I would be aggressively pushing right now. But Hawke insisted on the 'stay the night' nonsense, and he said it doesn't have to mean anything serious for me, so that means he's down to clown, right...? I cannot believe I just used the phrase 'down to clown' in reference to sex. Lord have mercy on my soul.

I can hardly look at Hawke as he stares at me like he's determined to make me explode. Finally, he says, "I apologize, I don't think I heard you correctly."

"Are you freakin' kidding me?" I whine, slumping in my chair. "That took so much out of me, you know? The least you could've done was listen!"

"No, I honestly don't think I heard you." Hawke insists, looking genuine. His face is still set in that severe expression, though, and his cheeks are slowly turning pink.

"I want to have sex with you, Garrett Hawke," I say with exaggerated slowness. "And,  _surpris_ e, it means the dreaded commitment coming from me. You still have," I pretend to look at an invisible watch on my wrist and then realize the joke is wasted on him, "about five minutes to back out."

_There you go. Sarcasm makes it so much easier._

He's a dark shade of pink. "Though I know these constant questions incense you, please tell me your reasoning. I don't want to have coerced you in any way." That makes me gawk. I sit there, slack-jawed for a moment, before bursting into a fit of laughter. Hawke is cherry red now, which makes me laugh even harder. He crosses his arms and glowers at me, "Don't laugh. This isn't funny, Mina. This is a very serious matter."

"Oh my God! Stop!" I guffaw, hunching over because the laughter is making my stomach hurt. After I've laughed for probably way too long, I manage to compose myself. In front of me, Hawke looks irritated. I snort and he glares, daring me to start laughing again. Biting my lip I chuckle, "That's not it at all, Hawke." I bring my legs up so I can sit cross-legged on the chair. "I had my reservations before, but that was because we hadn't really had a mature conversation about our relationship and, y'know, I had been lying the whole damn time." I roll my shoulders, trying to ease some of the slowly building tension. "You aren't coercing me, Hawke. Hell, I was about to jump your bones before I left your room the other day."

He's redder than humanly possible. " _Mina_."

"What?" I exaggeratedly roll my eyes. "Was that too vulgar? Would you prefer that I say I want to have a horizontal dance party with you? Take you down to Funkytown? Worship your Wonderland? Play your flute-"

"Mina!"

"Gee, are you gonna be this uptight when we have sex in just a  _few short minutes_?" I tease and get the reaction I was looking for: he's practically a human tomato. However, all of my big talk has put me in an awkward position. Purely out of principle, I have to make the first move now. And now I have a time constraint. Shit. My throat feels tight. Am I going to have a panic attack? Oh, lord, I hope not. That'd sure be the  _biggest_  turn on, I'm sure. Having to fan someone while they try and get their erratic breathing under control and not pass out is sure to get Hawke hot.

When I can bring myself to make eye contact, I find Hawke staring intently, breath shallow. It's as though my eardrums have been replaced by buzzing insects and my tongue is made of cotton. Inside, my stomach freezes despite the great, relentless heat I feel throughout the rest of my body, particularly between my legs. I close my eyes slowly against my embarrassment. I cough into the crook of my elbow in a lame attempt at playing it cool. Man, I've  _never_  been cool or suave or anything. I've always been a hot mess. But now? Now, I  _have_ to play it cool.

* * *

"So," I drawl, standing slowly and backing away from the table, "shall we get started?" When Hawke doesn't make a move, I give him a concerned look. Shit, did I read him wrong? If I did, well, I'm gonna be honest here… I'm totally gonna book it from this damn house. I'll leave all my damn supplies if I have to. I'll go out and buy a whole new set of clothes and weapons if it means I can just run away from my own shame. "Or… are you busy now?" I ask hesitantly, feeling like my stomach is made of ice.

Hawke is seated stiffly on the chair, face an impassive mask, hands clenched on the table. He looks like he's about to revert to his golem self from back when we first met when he suddenly states, staring straight ahead, "In the spirit of being honest with each other, I must admit that I don't have much experience in this... area of life." Golden eyes glance at my face to gauge my reaction. "Isabela had given me advice when she interrogated me about my intentions with you and she insisted that being honest with you before engaging in relations would be the best course of action."

Hooking my thumbs into my belt, I chuckle, "First, stop saying 'relations' or I'll throw up. Second…" My eyebrows pop up before I can school my expression into something more neutral. "Ah, how much experience are we talkin', Hawke?"

His gaze wavers, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. "Not a lot."

_No. No way._

Those sly little smiles from Isabela, that shit-eating grin, that almost pained look on her face when she realized she couldn't divulge some juicy information to me… Oh, say it ain't so? Does Hawke mean experience with women or...  _ever_? Isn't Hawke twenty-nine? Why hasn't he been in an intimate relationship before? Does he not feel sexual attraction? Does he feel  _compelled_  to have sex with me because it's expected? Does- Wait. Hold on. I think I've got it. One word: Apostate. Two words, actually:  _Paranoid_  apostate. Hawke is the most cautious person I've ever met, so I shouldn't judge him too harshly on this when trust is a hard thing to come by.

Besides, not everyone grew up desperate for any and  _every_  form of attention and affection like me. Hawke is reserved and private, slow to warm and suspicious. This shouldn't be as big of a surprise as it is to me and yet I feel like someone just yanked the rug out from under me. No, I'm not judging him for possibly being a virgin- sex is deeply personal for some people and almost meaningless to others (like me, usually). Right now, I'm freaking out over the possibility that I could be helping shape Hawke's perceptions of sex for better or  _worse_. That's… a lot of pressure.

I bite my lip when I realize I've been too quiet and Hawke is fidgeting under my gaze. Clearly Hawke's uncomfortable, so I won't push the question. However, I do have to ask, "Are you certain you want to do this with me?"

Golden eyes fixate on mine. "Absolutely."

_Be cool. Be considerate. Be… Well, humor usually helps?_

"Then we'll take things slow. I have more experience giving than receiving, anyway." Looking down casually, I tug off my gloves, feeling the mage's gaze on me the entire time. Strangely, taking the lead is calming my nerves. Guess I really am a control freak. "I'm going to work off of both your verbal and non-verbal cues, but if I do something that makes you even  _slightly_ uncomfortable, tell me and I'll immediately stop. You won't offend me." I kick off my boots. "Okay?"

"I understand."

I undo my belt and let it drop. When I look up, Hawke is staring at me with darkened eyes. I grin. "Are you going to get undressed or are you just enjoying the show? I can keep going if you want."

_Why'd I have to go and offer? Please don't make me strip! If I strip I'll feel compelled to make my own porno music!_

Hawke apologizes, ducks his head bashfully, and begins to stiffly take off his own boots, gloves, and belt over by my bed, setting his gloves down on the trunk at the foot of my bed. I lean against the table as I watch him, doing my best not to laugh at how cutely awkward he's being. Besides, who am I to laugh? I'm  _freaking out_. To be honest, I'm absolutely petrified about Hawke seeing me naked. I'm covered in scars and burns- I can't even bring  _myself_ to look at my body in a mirror.

But tonight, I can pretend to be confident. Hell, if I so much as wince or shrink away, I'm positive Hawke will refuse to continue for fear of me lying about not being coerced. Attentiveness and consideration aren't bad traits to have in a partner, not by a long shot, but I feel like Hawke just might get scared off if I come across as anything but certain right now. Just as I've steeled my nerves, coming to terms with having to take off the rest of my clothes, Hawke just  _has_  to say something that makes my cool demeanor shatter.

The mage clears his throat, eyes fixed on the floor as he folds his cloak and sets it on my trunk. "I already regret asking this, but do you prefer sexually aggressive men?"

" _What?_ " I laugh, totally caught off guard by that question and really glad that I didn't start drinking my wine again. Seeing Hawke's blush, I quickly backpedal and try to be supportive and  _not_  my usual troll self. I walk over to him and run my hands up and down his arms, shooting him an endearing smile. "What makes you ask that, sweetheart?"

Hawke flushes at the diminutive but answers stoically, "Isabela has hinted that you may have a preference for more forward men. I've been trying to-" The mage appears to lose his nerve. "Never mind."

"Trying to what?" I coax, pulling him close to me and tracing patterns into his back. Focused on trying to get Hawke to relax, I ignore the immense heat I feel between my legs from having my chest pulled flush to Hawke's body. Apparently I'm at least serving as a distraction from whatever is troubling him because I can feel a steadily growing stiffness begin to dig into my stomach.

"Live up to your ideal," Garrett finishes, clearing his throat loudly when he realizes I can feel his erection.

My own arousal is put on the back burner at the mage's confession. An uneasy frown tugs at my lips. "Hawke..."

Fingers dip into the small of my back, slowly trailing up to rest between my shoulder blades. Hawke murmurs close to my ear, "It's difficult to do yet easy at the same time, which is quite strange. It's a bit embarrassing, to be honest. But the momentary discomfort is worth it to me if I can be someone like that for you-"

I push away. "Stop." It comes out harsher than I wanted. The idea of someone feeling like they have to change some aspect of themselves to get affection makes me sick. The idea that  _Hawke_  feels like he needs to be some macho stereotype to woo  _me_  might actually make me throw up right here and now. My tongue darts out to wet my lips and I steel my nerves before I look up into the man's face. "For someone who so freely gives his opinion and vocalizes his stance on damn near everything, I'm actually surprised that you haven't been nearly as open with me when it comes to sex."

He looks away, abashed. "It is a delicate subject, to be sure."

I can only stomach his ashamed expression for so long before I find myself grabbing his hands. "Rule number one, my inexperienced friend," Hawke frowns but I continue, "don't do something that makes you uncomfortable. Rule number two, actually  _talk_  to your partner. Instead of bottling this up and trying to force yourself to conform to some role that you thought I was into, you should've talked to me, Hawke. I know it's hard or embarrassing to talk about these things, but it's worth it. Trust me. It's best that we set some ground rules before we start wandering around aimlessly and possibly doing damage to our relationship."

_Big talk for someone who has never had a decent, stable relationship in her entire life._

Yeah, well, I've read things! I also watched a lot of daytime television when I managed to swing my college schedule to where I only had classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays with work being on the weekend. In that semester, I damn near became a relationship expert. Shame I could never successfully transfer that knowledge to my  _actual_  relationships. In fact, I probably just came off as insufferable, preachy, and picky when I tried applying my relationship knowledge to my own fleeting relationships.

"I understand," Hawke sighs, rubbing circles into the backs of my hands with his thumbs. "However, I would like to know…  _Do_  you prefer aggressive men?" Golden eyes peer curiously into mine, daring me to try and dodge the question again.

_Goddamn._

I purse my lips. He's like a dog with a bone. "It honestly depends. I enjoy you initiating our little make-out sessions but that doesn't mean I want you to bend over backwards trying to please me at the expense of your own comfort. But I have to admit, it's a bit of relief to hear that you've been acting this whole time. I was afraid you were trying to dethrone me as Supreme Overlord in our relationship."

Hawke is momentarily distracted when I remove my hands from his to run them up his chest. He clears his throat. He seems to be doing a lot of that lately. Is it a nervous tic? "I wasn't acting. I mean I  _was_  but I- My attraction toward you and my desire for you has never been an act, Mina."

I grin. "Don't worry. I didn't misunderstand."

He nods, reassured. "And I suppose I was a bit unclear regarding putting on an act of forwardness. I  _do_  enjoy initiating contact to a certain extent- I have no problem with it and enjoy your responses. However, I'm uneasy when it comes to engaging in the acts Isabela suggested in her writings. In those instances, you can remain Supreme Overlord if you so desire."

_Oh, lord. I can only imagine what that woman wrote._

"What did she suggest?" I ask suspiciously while also trying really hard not to laugh.

"That's…" he grows hot under my hands, "you could read it yourself, if you're curious. I still have it in my room."

"And have my eyes bleed, judging from the look on your face." I chuckle when I see a hint of a smile on his lips. "Don't worry about it, Hawke. She probably wanted you to dive into the deep end instead wading into shallow waters first. But that's the beauty of communication: we can decide which end of the pool we'll jump into together."

"Right. Communication." Hawke repeats, giving me a stern look. "Will you make a joke of every discussion we have concerning our relationship?"

I roll my eyes dramatically. "Such little faith. I'll make an effort not to tease you when we talk about our relationship, I swear."

"Hm… That's reassuring," Hawke murmurs, the corners of his lips quirked slightly before dipping his head down to kiss me gently. He cups the back of my head, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss, resting his other hand on the small of my back. His tongue brushes my bottom lip and I eagerly open my mouth, tasting that saccharine wine on his tongue and threading my fingers through his hair. It's getting longer, I notice, and I give it a gentle tug. A deep moan reverberates through Hawke's chest and into mine.

I take the initiative. I push him back until the backs of his knees hit the bed behind him, causing his legs to buckle. Once we're down on the bed, I kiss him hungrily, greedily, like I have so much to prove. I hear the faint whir of fabric as my cowl is stripped off of me and thrown away, immediately replaced by eager fingers. When I pull back and attempt to start pulling off his tunic, the sudden change in weight distribution in my knees makes me lurch forward and nearly head-butt the mage. I freeze, staring at his flushed and rapidly moving chest as I grip the flimsy headboard of my bed like a lifeline.

_Shit! This looked way easier on the internet…_

So much for being the confident lead. Face burning furiously, I desperately want my hood but I know it's somewhere on the floor. Chancing a glance up, I find Hawke smiling at me patiently before he pulls me back down like nothing was ever amiss. Hands are everywhere, pulling at clothes, tugging on hair, grappling for any bit of flesh that can be found amongst the seemingly endless layers of shifts and tunics. Keep it above the waist, Mina- don't seem  _too_ eager. Well, I should get a gold star for trying for all of five seconds before I lower myself and press against him completely, fully.

Strong arms wrap around me, agile hands snake up the back of my tunic where his fingers burn against my skin like fire. His breath rattles in my ear, hitching and stuttering. Those once gently smiling lips are red and quivering as I methodically go through a collective of past experience and every little tip my roguish best friend had given me. All those tips had been given in jest, yes, but so far they're working damn well. I nip at Hawke's neck with my teeth before laving at the now tender spot beneath his ear with my tongue. He gasps, fingers dig into my hips, and he pulls me impossibly close.

He groans and swears to the Maker when I tug at his ear with my teeth and begin pressing fervent kisses down his neck and onto his flushed chest with its myriad of fine scars and burns that have left his dusky chest hair patchy and uneven, all while moving against the stiffness at the front of his trousers. Wedging a hand between us, I begin to quickly and clumsily undo the laces of his pants, the pressure of my hand causes him to choke on a moan. When they're undone, he shucks them off. Hawke presses his lips firmly to my temple and I begin to slowly make my way down, leaving a trail of kisses along his body until I'm settled between his thighs.

He goes rigid and inhales sharply when I gently dip my fingertips down the front of his smalls, feeling the dark, coarse hair just beneath the waistband. Seeing how tightly wound he is, I take great care freeing his erection, slowly tugging his smalls down. When my breath ghosts across his heated flesh, he jerks bodily and I glance up. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly before his breath stills in his chest. He's all tensed up in anticipation, not moving a single muscle. Golden eyes watch me intently as I slowly run my tongue up his shaft. His reaction is immediate, throwing back his head and biting down on his bottom lip. I stop and ask softly, "Is this all right?"

" _Yes_." Hawke croaks out, eyes squeezed shut. "Yes, you're fine Mina... You're..." He trails off into a throaty moan when I close my mouth around him, working my tongue along him and using my hand to add friction against the parts of him I can't reach. Hawke grapples with the thin sheets beneath him, seeking purchase somewhere, anywhere, before finally twining his fingers in my hair. I fight back my gag reflex when he gets a little too eager, pulling my head down on him desperately. I breathe heavily through my nose, smelling his salty skin and the musk left behind from his leathers.

Occasionally I glance up to find him watching, eyes intent and expression tortured. Other times his head is lolled back, repeating my name softly like a whispered prayer interrupted by barely choked back groans and curses to the Maker. It's when he begins to twitch in my mouth that my head starts to feel uncomfortably warm. I lean back, trying not to wince when Hawke leaves my mouth with an audible, wet pop, and I nearly fall off of the bed when I see Hawke's hands pulsing with heat.

"Uh... Hawke?" I clear my throat, voice strained. " _Hawke_?"

It takes him a few moments to regain his composure, and when he's ready to speak his hands have stopped pulsating. The mage awkwardly props himself up on his elbows, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Yes?" Hawke asks, voice gravelly from trying and failing to keep quiet. "Is something wrong?"

I squint. "You were kinda using magic."

Golden eyes blink and I don't think he's seeing me properly. "Was I?"

"Yeah," I rub my head where his hot fingers had been, "your hands were, um, really,  _really_  warm."

The veil of lust lifts and his expression turns alarmed, he hastily attempts to sit up. "Mina, I'm terribly sorr-"

"No, no!" I quickly place a hand on his abdomen, feeling his muscles twitch at my touch. "I'm not getting after you or anything! I just thought you should know." Chuckling awkwardly, I shrug, "I honestly wasn't expecting that to happen."

"Neither was I," the mage mumbles, face creased with worry.

Not wanting to further screw up the moment, I run my hand up his thigh and ask, "Ready to continue?"

"Are you sure you want to?" He asks, expression troubled even as his heart rate begins to quicken under my fingertips.

I grin and nod. "I was just starting to have fun."

Hawke smiles in response and I pick up where I left off, effectively wiping the smile off of his face. Maybe I'm a little too good at this (which is a damn surprise since it's been so freakin' long) or Hawke is too tightly wound, but not even a minute goes by before I hear his breathing getting labored. The stoic mage is finding it increasingly difficult to keep quiet, a few guttural moans escaping him before he can cover his mouth with his arm. I focus my ministrations on his sensitive head, adding pressure to his slit. This earns me an erratic buck of his hips and a barely stifled shout, teeth biting down into the heated flesh of his arm.

"Th-The door!" Hawke barely manages to gasp out between moans.

I pull away but keep stroking my hand up and down his shaft. "The  _what_?" I ask, a bit irritated. I glance up to find him pointing at the front door, arm shaking. I try to ignore the barely visible teeth marks on his forearm. Wait. I didn't lock the door. How did he-? I pull away completely. Leave it to Hawke to suddenly remember privacy in the middle of a blowjob. With a snort, I look back down at him. The mage's hair is in a wonderful disarray, like he got caught in a tornado. His cheeks are flushed, his breathing is haggard and shallow even as his chest heaves, and his inky tunic (the only thing he's wearing) hangs open at the front. He looks beautiful. I kiss him on the cheek. "Be back in a sec!"

Quickly, I roll off of the mage and bolt for the door. I fumble with the handle for a bit, swearing the entire time, hands shaky from adrenaline, before I'm able to lock it. The faint chill in the air against my exposed flesh has me racing back for the warmth of Hawke's body. I don't immediately get on the bed, however, when I realize the mage has been watching me the entire time. Hawke sits fully upright, waiting. His cheeks are still flushed which makes me grin. He silently beckons me forward with a crook of his finger.

I swallow hard, the grin sliding off of my face when I see his expression is that of raw desire. Golden eyes have turned dark and they burn me, but the mage makes no move to reach for me. I suddenly realize that the only time Hawke "boxes" me in, I have a door at my back or some other escape that's just as obvious as the fact that he maintains his space. He doesn't loom over me like the trolls in the streets or purposely attempt to put me in an uncomfortable or impossible situation like some of my previous lascivious employers. He doesn't even use his position as my employer to try and get anything out of me.

This respect is odd. I'm not used to it. Isabela taught me to be firm but still amiable when the people holding the purse strings got handsy- and they almost always did since some people seem not to be able to handle even an  _ounce_  of power over others. I'd swear those people had on chastity belts up until I came around, they were so desperate. Even  _back home_ , a lot of the guys and girls I'd fool around with would try to move too fast or guilt trip me. I'd say Hawke is old-school, but... I don't think that's it. I think he's just a decent person. Which is unfortunately rare.

I clear my throat. "Would you like to continue? Or are you properly warmed up?"

"Come here." The mage stresses each word.

Quirking a brow, I fidget for a moment before I start to crawl onto the bed only for Hawke to pull me up by my waist and roll us over on the covers. His knees are on either side of my hips and I feel a blush creeping up my neck as he stares down at me. In one swift motion, he captures my lips. I immediately melt into his touch, heart quickening when he begins kneading gentle circles into my hips. Aching now, I pull him in closer, feeling his hot erection brush against my stomach, leaving a wet trail. Suddenly his mouth is by my ear, breath hot as he whispers, "I find it hardly fair that I'm the only one enjoying myself."

"Hey, I  _was_  enjoying myself," I argue feebly. "It's not every day I can get those noises out of you." I chuckle breathlessly and practically choke on a startled gasp when he suddenly reaches up to brush his thumb over my nipple. I'm more alarmed by how the rough sensation of his callused thumb so easily sent a jolt of desire shooting through me than anything. I stammer, "What the-? Are you getting cheeky with me right now? _Now_?"

Hawke shoots me a mischievous look that sets my blood on fire. "You had it coming after that ridiculous comment."

"Oh, I had it  _coming_ , eh?" I snigger.

The mage shakes his head at me, dark hair brushing against my cheek. "Even now, you make such awful jokes."

"You know secretly you  _love it_ ," I counter with a snarky grin. When Hawke weakly argues that he doesn't between breathy, open-mouthed kisses against my jaw and neck, I shoot back, "If you don't like it, why don't you shut me up, then?"

That challenge wipes the playfulness off of Hawke's face in a heartbeat and he fixes me with a serious look. "Are you certain?" I nod vigorously and then want to slap myself for seeming like such an overzealous horndog. However, Hawke doesn't find anything remotely funny about my stupid reaction. He barely breathes out, "I want to hear you say it, Mina."

_Holy shit. What do I say?_

After struggling through a laundry list of sexy and snarky comments, I settle for the one that's least likely to shoot the mood dead in the face: "I'm certain."

It doesn't have the same  _oomph_  as, say, "take me" but if I had waited too long I was liable to say some stupid shit like "take me to Pound Town" or something equally as awful. Hawke seems to appreciate it nonetheless, awkwardly and clumsily lining himself up with one hand and holding himself up with the other. The realization that I didn't get to properly warm up for this briefly flits through my head as I help him line himself up right and I know I screwed up.

Then Hawke simultaneously presses his lips against mine in a searing kiss and sinks into me with a low, guttural moan. I'm rendered completely speechless at the dull burn, feeling him stretch and fill me. For a moment I forget to breathe, but then I realize  _not_  breathing is making this infinitely more uncomfortable. The second I grunt in pain, Hawke freezes. " _Maker_ ," he hisses, coming to a full stop. He pants, "Are you all right, Mina? Do you want to stop?"

" _No_." I want to ask him if he's completely out of his goddamn mind but I'm barely able to hiss out, "Keep going, Garrett." At least, I _think_ I say that. Maybe I swear at him. Eh...

He allows me to adjust before moving. As he thrusts in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, I begin to relax and roll my hips in time with his. I press fervent kisses to his sweaty neck and run my hands up and down his back, feeling the ridges of scars and searing this feeling and his scent into my memory. Slowly and steadily, tension begins to build low and hot in my gut, winding up until I'm pulling on Hawke and bucking my hips up to get him to pick up the pace. He obliges eagerly, pressing his forearm into the spot beside my head to give himself more leverage. I plant my feet into the bed and angle my hips to give him better access and his head drops down onto my chest.

Breath hot against my breast with each pant, Hawke presses sloppy kisses to my flesh, slowly moving up until he's sucking on the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Hawke whispers some things in my ear that make me blush fiercely and if I weren't afraid of ruining the moment, I would have done a double-take and laughed at hearing such filthy things fall off of the pristine lips of pious Garrett Hawke. I know for a  _fact_  that I'm repeating these things to him when we're on a job. It's just too good to pass up. I think he may have read a couple of Isabela's "friendfictions" or  _something_  to come up with some of that stuff.

When his thrusts start to get more and more erratic and shallow, I realize he's going to finish before I do. I forcibly shove my hand between us, trying to add more pressure to my clit since the pressure from Hawke's hips isn't nearly enough. When he realizes what I'm doing, Hawke hastily moves my hand away and begins stroking soft circles against my hyper-sensitive flesh. The contrast of the fast, damning pace of his thrusts and the slow, agonizing circles of his rough thumb undoes me in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

My vision blurs, blood pounds in my ears, my toes curl, and I throw my head back in a voiceless scream as I grab onto the mage. In whatever part of me that is still aware of reality, I avoid digging my nails into his back for fear of hurting him but I think I've practically pulled the man into a bone-crushing embrace as I go rigid. Hawke grunts as I clench down on him, a primal, desperate sound, and holds my hips still as he gives a few more fast, deep thrusts before pulling out quickly and swearing harshly. I'm vaguely aware of a blossoming wet heat on my hip.

For a while, all I can hear is our heavy breathing and the sound of blood pounding in my ears. A dull ache has already begun to settle between my thighs and I briefly wonder if it will go away by the time I return to Kirkwall (Hopefully it does. Isabela has a keen eye.). The room feels incredibly warm and then I realize it's because Hawke is still on top of me. Stupidly, I want to laugh. I just had sex with the Golem of Kirkwall and he said some of the most profane things my innocent little ears have ever heard.

_Don't make a joke. Don't do it, Mina._

"Well, I can check  _that_  one off of my bucket list." I joke coyly. Hawke sighs in feigned disappointment but pulls me into a lazy hug anyway and presses a kiss to my temple.


	42. Don't Go Softly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and angst to build up to major plot points. This is mostly me trying to get an update out for this month while I can. Blah, blah, blah, real life, blah. And look at all of those OCs! 
> 
> By the way, this one’s for you, angelbeets.

**33\. Don’t Go Softly**

Eyelids droop. I might just let myself fall asleep in a post-coital haze under a brunet who seems to have turned into a human blanket. Warm fingers are curled into my hair, an arm trapped under me in a lazy half-hug. Head lolls to the side, gazing at the deep blue light that filters in through the shutters. What time is it? Four, maybe? Five at the most? The realization that I have a _job_ to go to, with two jackals, no less, sends a bolt of anxiety shooting through my gut. Because Hawke? My gaze flickers down to the head of messy black hair on my chest and I’m aware of the soft, warm breath against my skin.

Well, Hawke seems like he wants to cuddle or something affectionate like that and I can’t afford to have “team leader” Amos Quickley thinking I don’t take my job as a smuggler guard seriously or his ego will bruise as easily as a banana. _Plus_ , he starts flexing his weedy muscles when he even _thinks_ someone is disrespecting him and it’s just… not worth the headache. However, brushing Hawke off after sort of cementing our relationship isn’t exactly the best way to end this, irritable Quick or no. I don’t want Hawke feeling like a one night stand but I also can’t blow off my job.

_Decisions, decisions._

When the heat from the furnace of a mage starts to get a little too unbearable, I gently nudge Hawke’s shoulder to indicate that I want to get up. The man obliges sluggishly, limbs looking heavy with fatigue and a tired apology falling from his reddened lips. He gracefully flops onto his back next to me and I throw a thin sheet over him after tossing a half-hearted tease his way. I’m about to crack wise again, as I’m wont to do, when a spot on my hip feels absurdly cold without Hawke sheltering me from the cool air.

Glancing down at the cooled ejaculate on my lower half, I fight off an exasperated sigh and reach for my already dirtied and discarded tunic on the floor, nearly falling off of the small bed in the process. Hot hands are quick to steady me, lingering a bit too long on my waist. “Thanks for the save,” I laugh, heart fluttering as the mage slowly releases me. For a moment, I want to make a third option of “have sex with Hawke again” instead of letting the man sleep or leaving for work. But I brush it off and instead focus on nearly giving myself fabric burn to get the sticky substance off of my skin. Damn, I shouldn’t have left it for so long. Or I should use some water.

An awkward cough comes from beside me and I glance over just in time to see Hawke look away from my semen stained tunic. He slowly sits up in bed, the white sheet pooling into his lap. Golden eyes are trained on his hands which have slowly and determinedly fisted themselves into the bed-sheet. The mage murmurs a barely audible, “I’m sorry,” and for a hot second I think I lose my ability to hear.

 _Why_ is he apologizing? Obviously I enjoyed myself, so he can’t possibly be apologizing because he thinks I hated every second I spent with him. Sure, he was awkward and fumbling but a little bumbling around in bed never _killed_ anyone. Well, aside from those freak-accident horror stories people tell that probably aren’t even real. I’m about to calmly ask Hawke what he’s apologizing for, hand outstretched to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, when I see the look on his face. Hawke’s kicked-puppy expression has me feeling a little dizzy- okay, _very_ dizzy- and rationality pops off for a vacation. Dread curdles in my gut. My hand drops back down to the bed.

Nothing good comes out of apologizing to someone directly after you have sex with them, I can tell you that much from my experience. And that goes double for being on the receiving end of the apology. That apology implies that the other party either didn’t enjoy themselves or they regret the whole damn thing. The first option makes me feel ill. The second option has my hackles rising. The whole situation makes me want to disappear. My hand aches and I realize I’ve been strangling my bed-sheet.

 _Just be calm. Just_ ask _him what he meant! Don’t get defensive._

I can barely even hear myself think over the pounding of my heart. Teeth on edge, I can feel my eyebrow twitch. Fixing Hawke with the most neutral expression I can muster (which is surprisingly difficult, since my face seems determined to look accusatory), I snark, “So, the first thing you tell a woman after you have sex with her is ‘I’m sorry’? Well, that’s certainly a mood killer.” And I feel like I need to hire someone to follow me around and punch me when I say dumb crap like that so that maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to think before I speak.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Garrett says suddenly, still looking ashamed and… something else. Something strange.

I suck my teeth, running my tongue along my upper lip just to buy myself more time to not react like an asshole. “Then what did you mean?” Good! _Good_. At least I finally asked him the damn question instead of sniping at him with my words.

A flash of gold, a glance that doesn’t even make it to my face, and the mage abruptly throws his legs over the edge of the bed and leans over to grab his clothes from atop the trunk. I watch, dead silent, as he dresses. Hawke’s movements are stiff, robotic, and I can tell that he’s clearly running on auto-pilot. The man asks me (without looking at me) if I’d like him to make me a bath. I accept his offer automatically, tone too clipped to foster any feelings of compassion and also to keep myself from saying anything other than “Yes.”

The mage approaches me like I’m a wild animal, posture stiff and face tight with trepidation before quickly plucking the dirty tunic from my lap and tossing it perhaps a bit too aggressively into the wicker basket at the far side of the room that I’ve used as a dirty laundry hamper since the beginning of time. Then, he’s off to determinedly melt some conjured up ice in the tub nestled in the little alcove off of the room; sounding like he’s banging pots and pans together and not quietly rummaging through the soaps and elixirs in the little wooden crate by the dingy old tub. And I’m about five seconds away from losing my shit.

As I watch the mage, an endless stream of awful scenarios goes through my head at Hawke’s sudden coldness. At first, it’s all about how this all impacts me, how it revolves around me, what it means for me. But then? Well, then I start thinking about something much, much worse. I know I asked Hawke if he was sure he wanted to do this, but he still _could’ve_ changed his mind. And if I pressured him? Needless to say, all my anger is consumed by fear and guilt. Though I don’t want to ask for fear of knowing some terrible truth, I need to make sure Hawke is fine. “A-Are you okay, Garrett?” I wince at my anxious stutter, at the lack of confidence in my voice.

Hawke obviously hears it, too, because he finally looks me in the eye and stands, expression grim. Hands flex at his sides, a tense gesture, before crossing the dusty room and taking a seat next to me. His nerves are contagious and I feel my anxiety rocketing through the roof just as he says, “I should have asked you beforehand. So many things were happening at once and I didn’t think to ask about what you wanted. That was… inconsiderate and highly inappropriate. Isabela had _warned_ me that… releasing myself onto you could be demeaning or degrading and yet I still- to _you_. I apologize, Mina.” The mage turns his face away, pale neck turning pink with shame. “I hadn’t fully realized what I had done to you until after the fact. I’m so, so sorry.”

_Wait. What?_

Honestly? I don’t think anyone can blame me for laughing as loudly as I do. Part of me wants to get really, irrationally angry at Hawke for nearly giving me a damn heart-attack for no good reason and another more dominant part of me makes me start laughing hysterically to the point that I feel like I might puke because my stomach hurts so much. For his part, Hawke just creases his brow in worry and frustration at me. Hawke was _mortified_. And for what? Blowing his load on my hip? Oh, no! Thinking about it makes me want to laugh even more when I _should_ be handling this more delicately for the guy’s sake. ‘Cause he looked really torn up… and laughing in his face isn’t too nice. I stifle my laughter (I’m pretty much just wheezing at this point anyway) and rest my head against the tall mage.

He stiffens. That pale brow furrows once more, confused as to why I’m not yelling at him. He slowly wraps an arm around me and I relish the feel of his body heat radiating off of him through the thin tunic. I toss him a patient smile and point out lightly, voice strained with laughter, “I think Cap was talking about a money shot, Hawke, which was totally _not_ what you-” At his puzzled look, I freeze and dig deep within myself not to lose it again because I’m _not_ explaining that to Garrett Friggin’ Hawke even if I _was_ the one to bring it up. The explanation might kill him if he thought cumming on my hip was the biggest sin known to mankind.

My silent refusal to explain puts the mage even more on edge. I can hear it in his voice when he says, “You’re the most fastidious person I know when it comes to cleanliness, Mina. You bathe more often than all of our companions combined.” Hawke speaks so softly, as if speaking too loudly might be the trick to make me come to my senses and realize I should be upset. “What I did doesn’t upset you?”

_Why does everyone think I bathe too much? Is that why he made me a bath?_

Drumming my fingers against my thigh in contemplation, I ask pointedly, “Why’d you pull out in the first place? As far as I know, most guys don’t, since-” I pause. Wait. I can’t say, ‘Since there's usually birth control like the pill in the mix’ and expect him to know what the hell I mean. Instead, I flounder. “Um. So. Anyway, I sort of forgot to even bring it up, so… Did Isabela tell you to do that? Did she write about it in her book?” I’m trying to be cheeky right now instead of awkward. But I think it’s a little heavy-handed.

Hawke fidgets. The Golem of Kirkwall, the stoic mage, _fidgets_. Sure, he’s been very obviously uncomfortable this whole time but he hasn’t once fidgeted. He’s put a few wrinkles in my sheets and slam dunked my tunic into a basket, but he didn’t fidget. So this little gesture, where he shuffles his feet and flexes his hands, alerts me to danger well before he can even admit, “Yes, Isabela told me. I didn’t want to potentially force you into more of a commitment with me than you were ready for.”

_Translation: I didn’t wanna knock you up._

“That-” I try to speak before I even _begin_ to think about how I’m going to tackle this situation. First off, I didn’t want to talk about _children_ with Hawke because I’m not even sure if this is a long-term thing or if he’ll come to his senses. And second, as far as I know, being an amalgam of different people instead of an _actual_ human sorta takes the child-bearing card out of my deck. I don’t think I can perform that particular parlor trick anymore. Golden eyes are fixed on me and I tell myself to not fall into the usual cycle of getting pissed when confronted with the reality of my being. Instead, I take a steadying breath and explain, “Hawke, I’m not even a _person_. I don’t have the usual, normal functioning that I had back in my world. So, you didn’t even need to pull out or… anything. I don’t think I can even _have_ children.”

_At least, I think that’s true._

Every biology class I had and the lame sex-ed class I was forced into in middle school (I had already had my first period by the time the school remembered kids were entering puberty, so the only bright side to that joke was I got a free maxi-pad out of it- no tampons, because that’s apparently like inserting a cotton penis into yourself which doesn’t fall in line with abstinence. And you’re not a virgin if your hymen isn’t intact. Thanks, Texas.) said that a menstrual cycle is a pretty big indicator of fertility. No period means no kids… Most of the time. I could still be ovulating but be none the wiser without a giant red flag waving in the air to alert me of impending danger.

Warmth touches my cheek and I flinch before realizing Hawke is cupping my cheek and ghosting his thumb along my cheekbone. “Mina,” he says, voice low and rumbling, “you look angry. Have I upset you again? I know you resent whenever these particular topics come up. I apologize for not realizing the implications of your summoning and for what happened before.”

_At least he’s not flipping out at the prospect of not having kids with me._

Or this conversation is going to be brought up at another time when Hawke thinks I’m not feeling so dejected. Hopefully not. And the fact that he’s back at it again with thinking cumming on my hip is _so_ offensive makes me roll my eyes. “Jesus, Hawke. I’m not mad at you for bringing it up. _I_ should’ve brought that up to you. And I swear, I’m _not_ upset that you ‘released’ yourself on me. If you want me to be straight with you, I was going to let you cum in my mouth but was feeling a little-” Upper lip twitches, my frustration melts away and the desire to laugh again quickly builds at Hawke’s doleful eyes.

God, I need to grow up. But this? This is just hilarious. Seeing stoic Hawke all flustered and aghast just makes my day. I could’ve just got mugged and seeing Hawke turn as red as a cherry, eyes wide and shifty, would cheer me up in no time flat. Vaguely I wonder just how sheltered Hawke has been to have such wonderful reactions. Once, when I was in Gamlen’s living room and the Hawkes were in their room, I made the mistake of pawing through the Hawkes’ mail in boredom as I waited for Hawke and Carver to finish arguing about whether or not Carver would be coming with us on a job when I saw _it_.

A letter. It was cute and endearing and maybe a little creepy. It was from a girl, I presume, named _Peaches_. I just about died laughing right there, but Merrill had already been shooting me warning looks for snooping and I wasn’t about to explain to her that I was laughing because I found a letter addressed to Carver Hawke from some smitten girl who thought she could use her friendship with Carver to essentially get him to play matchmaker with Hawke because Hawke _happened to look at her once_. My point is, Hawke obviously didn’t want for attention back in Lothering and certainly not here in Kirkwall. So…

I mean… Did he _never_ do research? Ask questions? I’ve been around to witness people make sexual advances toward Hawke. Was he never curious about what their words meant? The meaning behind the innuendo? Because I, personally, looked up every little bit of slang that was ever slung my way back home. And Hawke has _most definitely_ been exposed to thinly-veiled propositions for a friggin’ blow job and _all_ that the act entails. But the way he looks at me when I admit I was going to let him finish in my mouth had it not been for my own sexual desires makes me feel like I just fondled someone in church.

“Your _mouth?_ ” Hawke sounds scandalized and also somewhat intrigued despite himself. His cheeks have long surpassed pink and are now cherry red. “That... might not have been enjoyable for you.”

_Translation: That sounds gross for you but I’m also interested._

I squint, wondering if he’s pulling my leg or not. The sincere look of concern on his face tells me he’s dead serious. “You’re very sweet. Yes, it would’ve still been enjoyable for me. And yes, I swear I’m not upset with you. If you’re genuinely worried about the _mess_ , as you said before, a mess would’ve made _either way_ , Garrett. Sex can be messy. It honestly would’ve been harder to clean up if you’d stayed inside me, though. Haven’t you watched-?” I cut myself off yet again at his mortified expression. Did the awkwardness just triple at me outing myself as a voyeur? I think it did. Warmth now blossoms across _my_ cheeks at Hawke’s suddenly piercing look.

Garrett clears his throat and inquires, prim as ever, “Is that something you normally partake in at The Blooming Rose? I’m not judging your actions, mind you. I am merely trying to gain an insight into what your sexual preferences are.”

“Then ask.” I reply abruptly without answering the question because now _I’m_ realizing how out of my element I am when it comes to a sexual partner actually asking me what I want- realizing that it’s hard to articulate my desires. “Ask away. Ask as soon as the question occurs. Ask whatever you like. And while we’re on this topic, _I_ have to ask… Do you like reading erotic books, Hawke?” His face goes a dangerous shade of red and I quickly explain, “It’s just that, you made the effort to learn about sex, to a certain extent, through reading Isabela’s writing. And you’ve read _a lot_ since that book wasn’t exactly light reading. So, I figured it might be something that you enjoy. Y’know, since _I’m_ trying to gain an insight into what _your_ sexual preferences are.”

After a long, painful silence, in which the mage stares straight ahead like he has the thousand yard stare, Hawke finally admits, “I do.”

A wicked grin spreads across my face. “Good to know. I’ll have to find some books and, I dunno, read them to you, I guess.” I say it so lackadaisically, so casually, that Hawke’s reaction seems more like an overreaction. I can’t really explain how satisfying it is to see Hawke turn such a concerning shade of red as he tells me that I don’t have to do x, y, and z for him and blah, blah, blah. But, of course, my wickedness is short-lived. Because Hawke has to ruin it by turning the spotlight back onto me.

“And you? You- I mean, you prefer to watch people...” The golem can’t even get the question out.

_Awkward._

I try desperately to turn it back around. “My, oh, my. Garrett Hawke! Are you offering to masturbate for me?”

“No!” His voice rings through the room and I cringe away, all thoughts of laughing dashed against the wall along with my poor eardrums. The mage apologizes profusely for his tone before explaining, “Well, if you’d like I could- I suppose- But I’m wondering if you go to The Rose for such things.”

“Wh-? Oh! _No_.” I chuckle once the ringing in my ears stops. “Puh- _lease_ , if I’m going to pay a fortune at The Rose, I’m going to get in on the action. Watching other people have sex was something I did back in my world. For _free_. And often. A sad amount, actually.” I scratch the back of my neck.

“I see.” Hawke looks at me from beneath his dark lashes, golden eyes smoldering. “I suppose that’s why you’re so… talented.”

I flush at how brazen he’s suddenly being. “Try not to flatter me too much. In truth, this was the first time I’ve ever done _this_.” I gesture vaguely between us. “So, I’m not as experienced as you might think.”

“The first time you’ve ever…?” Hawke’s shy inquiry has my eyebrows rising.

“The first time I ever let anyone penetrate me with their penis, if that’s what you’re asking,” I elaborate bluntly and have to bite the inside of my cheek when he goes red in response. Gosh, it’s _so easy_ to fluster him. All I have to do is be direct. Well, all I have to do is be painfully crass. I swear the small room gets a thousand degrees hotter with him blushing so much. I hardly even notice that the fireplace has died with Hawke radiating so much heat. But I’m telling him the truth. Back home, when I had sex with anyone who had a penis, it was _never_ vaginal. Only oral. I was too much of a spaz to have vaginal sex. Too suspicious. Too distrustful.

“Mina, please don’t be so crude.” Hawke chastises once he’s composed his delicate self. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a silk fan and started fanning himself to bring down his temperature.

“Crude?” I snort. “I didn’t know words like ‘penetration’ and ‘penis’ were crude. Or are they only crude when used in the same sentence?” I watch as the mage’s neck burns a brilliant scarlet to rival the tapestries back at his estate. I grin deviously and drawl, “Damn, Hawke. For a second I thought you disappeared and a cherry was sitting next to me.”

“ _Mina_.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I yawn and stretch, popping my back before falling back against the firm bed, legs hanging over the edge. The darkened ceiling allows me a moment to gather my thoughts. I’m honestly glad that the situation was defused and Hawke opened up. A smile threatens my lips when Hawke slowly lowers himself down beside me. So, he’s at ease now. Good. “The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable around me, Hawke. And I don’t want you being a silent partner in this relationship. If you pull that bull like earlier, not telling me how you feel and trying to bottle it all up to the point that I have to _forcefully_ uncork it, this isn’t going to work. Trust me on that one.”

“I’m sorry, Mina.”

“As long as it doesn’t happen again,” I turn my head to face him, “I forgive you.” Hawke watches silently for a moment before reaching over and draping an arm across my chest so he can rest his hand on my shoulder. It’s a startlingly affectionate gesture and I’m surprised that it has me so flustered. When Hawke’s eyes start to smolder, I blurt, “Should I buy costumes for when I read you smut?

Those golden eyes close slowly, obvious frustration and embarrassment on the mage’s face but he doesn’t release me from his grip. “Mina, _honestly?_ ”

“What?” I chuckle, reaching up to grab his forearm. “It’s a good question. If only there were CD players here to set the mood with some music. I don’t think I can dress up, strum a lute, _and_ read you a raunchy story. And an iPhone or other MP3 player might be asking too much.”

“CD players?” Hawke queries, eyes now open and trained studiously on my face.

"Something from my _alien world_." I explain tightly, a bit irritated with myself for so casually referencing my “home world” like it’s not batshit crazy or anything. “It’s a device that plays music. No performers or instruments necessary. Like a really complex music box. Really, _really_ complex. Y’all have music boxes, right?”

Hawke bites back a smile. "I'm sorry?"

I purse my lips and explain, "Um… Okay, so you have musicians who perform the music and it gets recorded. The sound is transferred to and stored on a disk about this big," I make a circle with my hands and golden eyes squint at the gesture, “and a bunch of copies are made and sold in the market to people. There can be a lot of songs on one disk and sometimes there are songs on both sides. Those usually cost more unless the musician sucks. But anyway, a CD player plays the songs that have been burned to the disk.”

"How is the music transferred to this disk?"

Waving my hand lazily, I titter, "Magic? Listen, honey, my brother was the one who watched _How It’s Made_ so I don’t know the nitty gritty details- just the really vague stuff. All I know is that the music gets burned onto the disk and then the CD player plays the music for you."

" _How It’s Made?_ "

I stare up at the ceiling, suddenly facing the daunting task of explaining CDs _and_ television to Hawke. "It was a showon TV. Just like we had ways to record music, we had ways to record… well, _everything_. You could watch anything on TV. Everything could be recorded and replayed out of time. We could see recorded things that happened in the past, fictional scenarios like plays could be watched and re-watched at your leisure, and you could watch stuff that was happening all around the world.” The corner of my mouth twitches when I notice the look of awe and confusion on Hawke’s face. “I’m shit at explaining this stuff. Sorry. Maybe I’ll take a stab at it again later. Give it the old college try."

"If I'm being honest, I enjoy hearing about things from your world." Hawke admits, running his hand down from my shoulder to rest on my side.

I bite my lip, ignoring his hand placement. "You say it like I came from the moon."

"You might as well have, it's so perplexing,” Hawke chuckles softly when he sees my offended expression. “The very idea is still difficult to comprehend, but your stories make it more real for me. CDs and TV? It sounds so odd. It’s all very bizarre."

“That's not even the weirdest stuff. I’ll be sure to regale you with more tales, then...” I can’t help but trail off when Hawke barely increases his grip on my waist, fingers digging into me, thumb ghosting upward. I clear my throat loudly when he gives me a knowing look. "Does it creep you out that much?" I ask, eyebrow arching at the way my voice goes all high when he starts to gently rub his hand up and down my side. I’m tempted to smack his hand away so he can stop distracting me. Especially when he trails lower to caress my hip.

_Be strong..._

Hawke gives me a pointed look. "It doesn't 'creep me out' in the slightest. It's fascinating. And it certainly explains what I witnessed in that fantasy the desire demon created for you. Everything seemed so… different."

Bye-bye, lust. Immediately my face heats up like I’m on fire at that damn memory and I really do slap his hand away. A laugh almost escapes me and ruins my serious demeanor when I notice the almost imperceptible lip pout Hawke does in response to the loss of contact. "Can we _not_ go there? I'm still mortified that you and Shortcake even saw that. Sure, we all got to see that kid's daddy issues but it's not like _he_ had to stick around and look us all in the eye afterward." I pause. "How is he anyway? Feynriel, right?"

Hawke looks surprised that I even remembered Feynriel. But that… _that_ was an eventful day, to say the least. That was the day Mike had to go away. I think I can recall everything I smelled, everything I heard and felt leading up to Mike’s abduction. Gosh, that’s a weird thing to realize: that Mike was _abducted_. Mike was forcibly taken away by Julian and Kiriyama thanks to _my_ screw up. My stomach tightens with regret, thinking about how Mike had said he’d see me soon in his letter. Still haven’t seen him. Did he lie? Did he change his mind? I wouldn’t blame him if he did...

"Truthfully,” Hawke’s deep voice yanks me from my thoughts and I couldn’t be happier for an interruption, “I haven't heard from him and I don't expect to. Yes, I would be relieved to receive some sort of correspondence from him, but he's in hiding- it would be impractical." Hawke sits up on his elbows and glances over his shoulder, back to the little alcove with the tub. “The water should have cooled down a bit by now. You can bathe.”

I really do need that bath considering I’m covered in sweat. Which means I have to stand up, _naked_ , in front of Hawke. I rationalize that he’s already seen me in my birthday suit, so that line has already been crossed. Right? It’s been crossed _several_ times over. But my heart still pounds in my chest, trying to claw its way out. I try to rationalize further, telling myself things like, “Well, he saw you naked and didn’t _scream_ , did he? So why would he now?” I also tell myself that the lighting is so poor in here right now that he won’t _really_ see anything, at least not clearly. Doesn’t help, FYI.

_You’re the confident, sexually aggressive, annoying one. He’s the awkward, pious, blushing one. Remember that._

Not wanting to ask Hawke to close his eyes and risk making things any more awkward (shocking, I know), I sit up and stand on jelly legs, let the blanket drop from my form, and I go to paw through my armoire for smalls like I’m not totally naked. When I’m about to head over to the tub, I glance up to find Hawke staring. The second we make eye contact in the dimly lit room, he practically breaks his neck to look away. I watch as his ears turn blood red. “I’m sorry.” Hawke apologizes, expression ashamed. “That was crude of me.”

“As long as you enjoyed it,” I sing and feel a tinge of pride blossom in my chest when his blush darkens in response. Smalls are thrown down next to the tub of floral smelling water and I realize the mage poured lavender oil into the bath. I make a mental note, thinking he might have a fondness for that particular aroma. I sit in the tub and sigh at the pleasant heat. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch the mage as he goes to start the fire back up again. Cool blue light is chased away by orange warmth and the mage carefully makes his way over to the alcove. "You sure do help a lot of people."

Hawke stands awkwardly in the entryway, rubbing the dingy curtain partition between his index finger and thumb, before I gesture for him to come over. The mage obliges and sits on the floor beside the tub, watching me closely. "I merely help those who want to help themselves but lack the resources to do so on their own."

"Is that how you see it?"

"In cases like Feynriel's? Yes."

_And other cases?_

Words from the rumor mill come flooding back to me. Ever since I started smuggling again, I’ve been hearing more and more about Hawke and the Viscount. When I first came back to Kirkwall, I only got word of this from Bray and Fenris. Both mentioned Hawke’s dealings with Dumar only briefly and with much contempt. Now? I hear about the topic constantly and it has more of an _envious_ slant. A dangerous slant. I click my tongue and turn my face away from Hawke, opting to focus on soaking the rag Hawke had placed on the edge of the tub. "How about with the Viscount?" I can see him looking at me from the corner of my eye.

"I have been working for the Viscount more frequently, yes, but I don't consider that helping so much as performing a job."

"Yeah. A job. Many jobs, from what I hear."

"And what have you been hearing?" Hawke asks not unkindly but there’s a certain edge to his tone that has me returning my gaze to him.

"That you're Dumar's right hand.” I answer flatly, honestly. “That you're his little errand boy when it comes to the Arishok because he's too afraid to deal with the man himself. He'd rather throw you into the fire than do his own damn job."

Hawke’s face stones over, cool and emotionless as he looks out into the cramped living space. Golden eyes dance over the two beds and his gaze lingers on the sturdy wooden table to the right. The room is slowly filling with soft blue light from the windows to combat the light from the fireplace, alerting us both to the hour. At first I think the golem is just going to let me suffer in silence for my smart mouth, but he finally states icily, "He's doing what he believes is best for the city."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. "Oh, _sure_. Isn't he in bed with the Chantry?"

Golden eyes cut to me. "At first I thought that perhaps you had started to spend more time with Fenris, but now I see that it’s Anders who is rubbing off on you."

The blush that rips across my cheeks? Yeah, there’s no suppressing that. My feathers are getting ruffled and I find myself sneering, "Let's just call a spade a spade here, Hawke. You're disposable to Dumar. He may be looking out for the city, as you say, but he sure as shit isn't looking out for you. And if you think he is? Get real, sunshine. He doesn't care about you! Not like-" I swallow what damning thing I was going to say and spit out, "your friends do! And Dumar is _not_ your friend."

"Are you trying to tell me that I should stop performing jobs for the Viscount?" Hawke folds his arms across his chest, daring me to confirm that I’m being overbearing and nosy, that I’m attempting to coddle a grown ass man who has been putting his neck on the line for others since before I even met him.

"I'm not _telling_ you to do anything. I know the importance of having friends in high places but just... be careful. Make sure you live long enough to call in all those favors you've accumulated."

"I'm not doing any of this to earn favors."

His response makes me bark a derisive laugh. "Then I hate to break it to you, but you're doing it wrong. If I was doing personal favors for the _Viscount_ , you can bet your cute butt I would have a list as long as my arm of all the things I'd want in return. But that's the difference between you and me. You're pious and I'm shameless."

On that note, I begin to quickly scrub my body down, pretty much giving Hawke the cold shoulder. I’m already sick of arguing because all I’m accomplishing is revealing what a real shitbag I am. I’m an extortionist. A blackmailer. A smuggler without a charitable bone in her damn body. And although Hawke already knows this, considering the analytical robot had to know my full record and work history before hiring me, I can’t help but feel a prickling on my conscience for it. But I just _had_ to start an argument, right? I just _had_ to be overprotective in the worst way possible.

Hawke sighs, the wind taken from his sails at my obvious frustration. "You're hardly what I'd call shameless, my love." And then his words just hang in the air. Hands pause in their vigorous motions, fingers pulling the rag at my knees into a death grip that nearly rips the cloth in two. Slowly, I turn to look at the brunet mage next to me. It’s dead silent. We stare at each other, him blushing and me with my mouth agape. Hawke breaks eye contact first, a hushed swear ghosting across his lips. His reaction has me laughing like a maniac.

"Wow! Pet names coming from _you_? Is it because we had sex? Do I unlock a new name each time? How many can I collect? I'll have you know I tend to be an _avid_ collector when I find little collectibles that I like." I almost choke at how flustered he looks. “Can we work off of a tier reward system or something? Like, if I get you at a certain time I can get two for the price of one or the more sexual acts I perform in one sitting the more names I unlock instead of just getting one for the one time we’re together?”

Hawke looks irritated at my drawn-out ribbing and snaps back tersely, "Keep up your incessant teasing and there shall be no more names for you to collect."

"Ouch! My heart!" I snigger, slapping the rag dramatically to my chest. “Would it make you feel better to take a bath? You know I’m really trying to apologize when I’m willing to share my bath water.”

“ _Mina_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get _too_ excited. This tub isn’t big enough for two people, dear.” With that, I stand, leaving the mage speechless. I use his shoulder to steady myself as I step out of the tub because I’ll be damned if I slip in front of him. I toss Hawke a lascivious grin and dry off, making a show of it.

So, I’m deflecting. That’s kinda my thing. And although it may seem childish to Hawke, my lame jokes and teasing are serving a purpose other than to fluster him. I’m panicking. Though he offered me wonderful joke fodder with that slip up, I’m still firmly stuck on the topic of his work with the Viscount. Hawke is extremely intelligent but also _ridiculously na_ _ї_ _ve_ when it comes to the general underhandedness of how Kirkwall functions. But if I keep hounding him about the dangers of working so publicly for the Viscount, all I’ll do is push him away.

I give the mage a warm smile as I throw on my smalls. “I had a great time, Garrett. Thank you. And did _you_ have a good time?”

A genuine smile crosses his lips as he stands, inky tunic shifting and golden eyes shimmering. “Of course I did. It was lovely. _You_ were lovely.”

I enjoy the shy smile on his lips for a second before I decide to ruin the moment. “Now, I hate to cut this short, but I have a job to go to.”

He blinks in surprise. “A job?”

I gesture for him to sit at the table and partake in any of the food I have there. Much to my surprise, he goes to the foot of my bed to collect a bag that I hadn’t even noticed he’d brought and pulls out some cured meat, grapes, and some weird looking loaf. Was he going to wine and dine me? I brush away the thought and continue with the topic at hand. “Anders didn’t tell you? I’m surprised. I have a smuggling gig to get to in about an hour. We've been losing a lot of people lately. Can't use the docks anymore because some newbie stuck it in a member of the Guard and got a vet pinched as a result- so we're zero for two." I’m rambling now.

"Are you telling me that your friends need you?"

A scoff comes tumbling off of my lips. "Oh, Garrett. Honey, those people are _not_ my friends. But their connections come in handy. So, I'm telling you that I'm going to make myself useful to them so they remember how useful I can be.” I pause in adjusting my breastband. “And also so I have some leverage to work with. No one likes owing debts, especially not debts that can tie them back to a crime."

"Why do you need leverage?"

_Because you're becoming a popular target._

It’s no huge secret that the Hawkes accomplished what many people have only dreamed of accomplishing: They made it to Hightown. They have the Viscount’s ear. They’re going places. And what really sticks in the collective craw of Kirkwall is that they’re _foreign_. Sure, Leandra _Amell_ grew up in Kirkwall and was a noble. But that was the past. She left and came back a Hawke with no title. These nobodies made it big in no time flat and I’m not deaf to the grumblings in the taverns or blind to the looks Hawke gets wherever he goes.

I have, at most, _two_ contacts at the moment who would kill for me because I was lucky enough to be present when they did something that could get _them_ killed or blacklisted (but most likely killed in the most brutal way possible). Yes, this means they could just bump me off and be done with me. But the temptation is too great- the temptation that I'll ask for a favor that's greater than the debt owed and then _I'll_ be the one in their pocket. Bad news for them is that turnabout is my game. The second my favor is fulfilled, I have no qualms about doing whatever it takes to avoid being in their debt.

_Mmm. So cavalier about murder nowadays._

Yeah, well, I don't have the patience to wait for little schemers like Amos Quickley and Desdemona to decide if they want to rat me out or call in a favor. Funny thing is, when I had expressed this sentiment to Isabela after she nearly blew a gasket when she found out _I_ was the guard on a high-profile job (as high-profile as a smuggling job can be, anyway) that flew south for "unknown" reasons, she said I was growing up fast. Well, she punched me first because she needed to do damage control on my reputation as a fledgling guard, _then_ she said she was proud.

It was a little disquieting that my first instinct when I saw Quick turn around and hand over the shipment to someone _other_ than the guy who hired us was to tell him to make my silence worth it. He threatened my life at first, of course, but I'm an actor. Pressure is my muse. I lied and said I personally knew the then-Guard Captain. That made me useful. Because Quickley isn't charming enough to have a guard captain in his pocket. He's foolish and crass and _inelegant_. Me? I can be convincing. And even back then I had enough muscle to crack his head open like a cantaloupe if he got stupid. He knew _that_ , too.

But the point is, if something cataclysmic happens and I need to hit the eject button hard and fast, I can have the Hawkes smuggled out of the city in under an hour flat. Not that I doubt Varric or Cap could do the same, but… It’s a contingency plan and I’m a control freak. These are last resort contacts, though. Very, very last resort. So last resort that I didn't use them to find Mike because he would've been held hostage for a certainty as collateral in this dangerous game of debt and debtor. But I trust Hawke could easily roast any double-crossing dog I call in a favor of. Especially Quick. And Desdemona has always had a soft spot for human women so she’d never let Quick touch a hair on Leandra’s head.

_And even though they’re both opportunistic jackals like myself, Quick and Des would be easier to take on than an entire city._

I clear my throat delicately, rifling through my armoire to find appropriate garb to go trekking through the sewers in. Once I’ve settled on my least favorite clothes, the ones I wouldn’t cry over having to burn later, I throw them on hastily and go sit across from Hawke at the table. “I need leverage because things in the city are bad- probably worse than bad. They're _awful_. And you're in the thick of it, Hawke.”

The mage gives me a patient smile and reaches forward to grab my hand. He rubs a callused thumb in small, methodical circles over the back of my hand in a consoling gesture that makes me blush, and says softly, “Mina, I'll be fine. You needn’t return to smuggling for my sake.”

“How can you be so sure of that? You know the last thing I said to my best friend the night I was murdered? I told her that I was going to be _fine_.” His eyes darken, a mix of fear and sorrow, but I press on. “I thought I had it all figured out- just a short trip, something incredibly mundane as doing laundry wasn't going to kill me. And I _died_.” I run a hand through my hair before gesturing toward him anxiously, “This, what _you're_ doing, is hardly mundane. This isn't laundry day, Hawke.”

“I won't let things get out of hand. If the situation is dire, I won’t put myself in any unnecessary danger.” His words make me want to puke.

_Any danger is unnecessary!_

My vow to not push Hawke away with Viscount talk is unravelling at breakneck speed. “That's _not_ your job, Hawke. The Viscount is supposed to command respect and he can’t stop relegating control to you with every other breath- _you_ might as well be Viscount at this point! You’ve told me about what happened to the Qunari delegate. Things are _already_ out of hand, Garrett.”

“You’re worried about me.” The mage suddenly states, like he just finally realized the intent of my rantings and ravings.

I shoot him a dirty look. “Duh! I thought that was pretty damn obvious. I’m not yelling for my own health!”

“Mina, you needn’t worry about-“

“Hold it right there.” I fix him with a critical frown. “Didn’t you come here because _you_ were worried about _me?_ Anders said I had left in the wee hours of the morning after spending an unholy amount of time playing researcher and you were concerned so you stopped by. Right? And you’re subtly trying to talk me out of smuggling because you don’t trust the people I work with. Right?”

The mage’s cheeks color and he stiffly relents, “I see your point.”

We’re both trying to be protective in the most passive way possible. Neither one of us wants the other to get hurt and we’re both very much aware of how stubborn the other is. But I can’t always be there to watch Hawke’s back, even if I wish I could. There is, however, one other person who might be slightly more overbearing than I am who can pick up the slack when I’m busy being a heathen. Watching Hawke stew in his own discomfort, I announce haughtily, “I won’t work too many jobs with shifty people if you don’t play mediator between the Viscount and Arishok without me or _Aveline_ present. Deal?”

“Aveline?” Hawke repeats, struck by how odd it is that I would make such a request. But I’ve seen how protective she gets of Hawke, the chilling looks she’d give someone for even looking at him the wrong way (I know this personally, since _I’ve_ been on the receiving end of those looks). At my determined frown, Hawke sighs, “Deal.”

“I kinda wasn’t leaving you with a choice, but thanks for consenting anyway.” I grumble.

Hawke looks like he’s going to comment on my neurotic behavior, an almost teasing smile on his bow-shaped mouth, but then something odd happens. Some strange emotion flickers across the man’s face. Golden eyes suddenly can’t or won’t meet mine. “I… almost forgot. I have something for you.”

I watch the mage lean down to rifle through his bag before anxiously handing me a neatly folded cloth with intricate golden embellishments. My brow arches instinctively as I take the article from him. “A new cowl?” Wait. It’s in the signature ‘Hawke’ crimson, with a family crest and everything. Why is he giving me this? No! No. I’ll think about it later. Too bad my insistence on _not thinking about it_ doesn’t stop the heat that creeps up my neck. I cough into the crook of my arm. “Thanks! Um… I can’t wear it _now_ , of course, considering I’m going to be in some nasty places. But I really do love it.”

“It was no trouble. I just thought that perhaps you would like a new one.” Hawke says this all very casually, business as usual, but when I stand and lean across the table, putting my hand on his neck to bring him in for an appreciative kiss, his heart is beating at a quick pace. He cups my cheek, attempting to deepen the kiss, but the moment is disturbed by the mage accidentally knocking over the unfinished cup of wine from earlier. I can practically hear him swearing in his head as it spills across the table and onto his lap.

“The wine strikes back. That’s what you get for making a face about it.” I smile against his grimacing lips and pull away before walking toward the door, throwing my pack on and adjusting Slicer. “I’ll thank you properly later. But for now, I’ll leave you to go clean up.” Hawke frowns in barely concealed disappointment and follows, saying something about having left a change of clothes at his uncle’s across the courtyard, but I laugh him off. “I’d rather you don’t bother Gamlen. Besides, I think all your moaning and blaspheming against the Maker may have traumatized him and the rest of the courtyard.”

“Mina!”

* * *

“Don’t know how you can fuck a Fereldan. They smell like wet dog, the lot of ‘em.”

_That’s funny, coming from a man who likes Douglas Bray to warm his bed._

That unwarranted comment comes from the wormy lips of veteran smuggler Amos Quickley. His raven hair flecked with bits of silver is pulled into a long braid that falls down his back, right between his sharp shoulder blades. Pale brown eyes bore into me from a narrow, tan face that’s twisted into a disapproving scowl. Honestly, I doubt he knows I slept with Hawke. It’s always been rumored that Hawke & Co. are just one massive quest-seeking orgy, so Quick is probably just pissed that I’ve started working with Hawke again.

Quick and his right hand, Des, work under the assumption that they’re part of some elite smuggling group. They’re very, _very_ picky about who they allow on their famously lucrative jobs (or _infamously_ , depending on who you ask) and Quick usually gets a wild hair up his ass if his “chosen ones” have the gall to start sniffing around other avenues for work like what he brings to the table isn’t good enough- and it usually isn’t. Though the Quick-Des jobs rake in the cash, they’re few and far between. It’s impractical for them to think that the ten or so smugglers they like to roll with can live off of one job every few weeks.

But there’s no rotating door with those two; they pick who they want and they stick with them. And they expect that if they hand-pick you, _you’re_ going to stick with them as well- none of this freelancing or “trying to sustain a family” nonsense. It’s a bit… silly. It often feels like some tree-house club little kids have with some crude “Keep Out” sign plastered on the tree trunk. But unlike little kids, Quick will enforce his metaphorical “Keep Out” sign and usually with violence to keep up that ridiculous veil of exclusivity.

Though he’s a smuggler and a bit on the reedy side physique-wise, the man has a cruel streak that’s better suited for mercenary work. But knowing that dangerous little facet of his doesn’t keep my mouth in check. I practically roll my eyes into the back of my head as I groan, “Shut the _hell_ up, Quick.”

“Hey! You can’t talk to your boss like that!” Quick barks, brown skin reddening at my brusque response. His slightly pointed ears are as red as tomatoes, earning a condescending sneer from me since it’s so obvious that I got under his paper-thin skin. Honestly, I’m pushing it. I’m really pushing it. Quickley has a mean streak but he’s a _fool_ with a mean streak… which can be dangerous. Though I have dirt on him that’ll keep him from firing me (at least until I finally call in my favor), all the blackmail in the world can’t curb his temper. And Quick likes getting physical.

_Too bad his temper never fails to ignite mine._

I cross my legs and narrow my eyes at the leader of our troupe. “Good thing you aren’t my _boss_ , then. Last I checked, the coin is coming from Ser Marvin. I’m sure he’d have no qualms about me swearing at you. In fact, based on first impressions alone, I think he’d pay me _extra_ if he knew I was giving you hell.” Though I’m needling Quick right now, in truth it grossed me out that Marvin got an attitude with Quick for being half elf and as a consequence would only talk to me about our agreement like _I_ was the leader. I’m not any fan of Amos Quickley, but I was one more slur away from breaking Marvin’s nose.

_The crap smugglers will put up with to secure a job._

Quickley grumbles to himself while Des watches on, expression smug. She was there on that notorious job so she knows that I can instill the fear of the Maker in Quick faster than he can list his favorite vulgarities. Blackmail is her game, so rather than hold a grudge against me for blackmailing her and her lover, my underhandedness actually earned her respect. The pale woman shucks off her bow and quiver full of arrows before standing and coming over to plop down on the bit of driftwood next to me, shooting me endearing looks with her big, stormy gray eyes. I know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth.

“Solis, love, why would you knock boots with that boring man over _me?_ I thought we had… a connection.” Leather-clad fingers dance up my arm before resting heavily on my shoulder and I give the redhead a bored look.

“Don’t be coy. You know I’m saving myself for the Maker, Des.” My response earns me a choked laugh from the dwarven woman and a much-too-rough pat on my back that’s just a little too low for my liking. The other two onlookers aren’t impressed. Quick gives Des a warning look and the new blood, some blonde who calls herself Frain, makes a haughty sound that I think is some strange cross between a scoff and a snort. Very elegant. No, seriously. That noise would sound vulgar coming from anyone else but she manages to make it sound like a high-brow insult.

We’re camped out on the Wounded Coast, the four of us all smelling like shit and hoping to air out by the time the shipment arrives at the rendezvous point (which is _our camp_ … Quick still doesn’t see how stupid that is) or else we won’t hear the end of it from our source, a Vint who changes his name as often as he changes his face and his job description combined. It’s the same old same old: a lyrium job for Templars. If the lyrium was for anyone else, all the cloak and dagger wouldn’t be necessary. But Templars? They have an appearance of professionalism and a pristine reputation to maintain. They’re the face of the Chantry.

_And what institution wants their public face to be that of an addict?_

Across the campfire, emerald eyes burn into me. Before I can get into it with Des about personal space for the millionth time since we’ve worked together, the two of us turn our gaze to Frain. She’s been in a bad mood since we entered the sewer in Kirkwall. Quick said she’s not in a “bad mood” but that it’s just that she’s Orlesian and “they’re all like that.” _Orlesian_. Yeah, I’ll admit that for a fleeting moment I considered employing her help in translating Julian’s book. But that little idea was ridiculous.

From what I’ve gleaned from her hushed declarations to herself, Frain doesn’t like doing work for Templars. What she doesn’t seem to fully understand is that she’s _new blood_. Which means she’s hardly in any position to start making demands or being so picky about what jobs she can get. We all had to start somewhere. Hell, on one of my first jobs I had to put up with some noblewoman with wandering, grabby hands who also had a tendency to call me a Fereldan whore with every other breath like she wasn’t trying to cop a feel. It took all of my self-control to keep from chopping her damn hands off with their many, many bejeweled rings.

And truthfully? Frain is damn lucky she even got in on this job in the first place. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said Des and Quick are picky but they’re also massive xenophobes. I only got in good with them years back based on a combination of flirty glances from Douglas Bray and Isabela’s silver tongue. Quick and Des are Marchers through and through, born and raised in Kirkwall’s scenic Lowtown with all the prejudices and biases that typically come with that upbringing. That prejudice didn’t extend to Isabela because she’s too damn charming. But it was a miracle that Doug, who is as Fereldan and uncouth as someone can get, got into their good graces.

Then again, all it takes is being down for a dangerous threesome and having access to lots and lots of booze for Quick and Des to “like” someone. So, back to my initial inquiry: Frain. Somehow I doubt Frain got picked up for this job based on a willingness to perform sexual favors. Des and Quick get off on hurting people- not the “bordering on pain” sort of pleasure, but the kind that had me swiping my table clear of plates and cups in the dead of night while Isabela stitched a stab wound in Bray’s side as he lay unconscious and bleeding.

That memory makes me grimace. Every time Quick and Desdemona ask about Bray, I grimace. Whenever I bump into the burly pretty-boy at the Lowtown marketplace and he gives me a wide, unassuming grin, I grimace. After all I did for that sorry shit and Bray still tried to blackmail me with Hawke’s apostate status as his lone bargaining chip. After years of working together, he turned around and tried to use me. Yeah, I wouldn’t have ever called us friends- allies, maybe, but not friends. But his betrayal was stunning, sobering, infuriating.

_It’s not like he remembers any of it, though._

“Jesus,” I murmur to myself, shutting my eyes and trying to close myself off from that needling little voice that reminds me of _what I did_ to Douglas Bray.

“What’s your problem, bitch?” Desdemona’s voice is harsh and cold, so different from the warmth with soft intonations that she used on me not ten seconds ago, and I’m wrenched from any disturbing thoughts that I might have had. It takes me a moment to realize she isn’t talking to me, gray eyes shooting lasers at the woman across from us. “You’ve been throwing Solis those ugly looks since you saw her. Back the fuck off or you’ll find that no one in this city will hire you after _I’m_ done with you.”

That makes my eyebrows pop up. _Has_ she been giving me ugly looks? I haven’t been paying the newbie much attention beyond our initial introductions in Kirkwall, so this is news to me. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stumbled across hate-at-first-sight, though, so I’m not shocked. Desdemona’s hostility on the other hand? _That’s_ what’s more than a little weird. Des, though forward, has one of those sickeningly saccharine personalities that’s more befitting of a soccer mom than a smuggler. She’d sooner bake you cookies than shank you. But she’d also drag your reputation through the mud with a smile on her face. Still, her outburst is rather out of character.

I throw the redhead an easy smile and joke, “ _Ooh._ Calm down or you’ll have me breaking my vow to the Maker in no time flat. I might even start worshipping your Ancestors if you keep it up.” A matching smile flits onto her freckled face and she removes her hellfire glare from the curly-haired Orlesian. Without that challenging look to hold her in place, Frain stands abruptly, says something about needing to go make water, and leaves camp. I watch her lithe figure swathed in fine black leathers disappear around a bend before returning my gaze to Des. “What was that about?”

Quick takes it upon himself to answer for his lover. “Nerves, probably. All the green ones are havin’ a hard time after that mess with Vic gettin’ thrown in prison. The bar’s never been higher and they’re all rippin’ each other’s throats out to get work.”

“So why did you two let her in on this job if everyone is looking down on fresh meat?”

“She paid to come along.” Des admits with a lazy roll of her shoulders. “For whatever reason, she really wanted to work this job. Don’t know why, seeing as how she’s acting like this was something that was forced on her.” The redhead huffs an aggravated laugh. “She could stand to be a bit more grateful. Working with us makes her look good to everyone else.”

“Any idea why she wanted in? I’ve never heard of paying a premium just to put your neck on the line for a job you never even wanted.”

Because she _did_ pay a hefty price to work this job if she wasn’t hand-picked. The truly desperate smugglers basically pay to “audition” for these two but most seasoned smugglers know that it’s a long-running scam. Never have Des and Quick ever actually brought someone who auditioned into their fold. They just hold auditions for easy money and free labor. Oh, and to make someone “look good.” In truth, the people who audition just look like suckers to everyone else and it’s a sure-fire way to build a reputation as being easy prey, so those who audition can expect to get stiffed on jobs or end up with nothing but grunt work later on.

“Now that I think about it, she asked about you, Solis. Frain seemed to only want to work if I assured her you’d show up.” Eyes the color of wood pulp narrow at me. Irritation flickers across Quick’s face and he growls, “Oh, bullocks! She’s not some scorned lover, is she? The last thing we need is drama when we have to entertain _the Vint_.” He spits that last part out like it tastes foul on his tongue.

“If she was an ex, I’d have recognized her.” I frown off at where Frain wandered off to. “I don’t know that woman from a hole in the wall.” And I really mean that. Although Frain hasn’t done anything to impress me so far (in fact, she’s left me unimpressed with her attitude and fondness of trying to give me ojo), I have to admit that she’s pretty. Curly blonde hair the color of gold, porcelain skin, delicate features, and wide green eyes. She has the conventional attractiveness of nobility and yet she’s working as a smuggler. The way she trudged through the sewers was humorous, the way she cursed under her breath about Templars like no one could hear was cute. But there’s something a little weird about her that goes beyond giving me the evil eye.

“Well,” Des drawls, throwing her arm across my shoulders and leaning into me, “she seems to know you.” Her button nose bumps across my jaw and she hums a delighted little noise to herself. “ _Mmm._ You smell like lavender! You always smell so nice, Solis. So _clean_ and-”

“Look alive, children.”

Beside me, Desdemona tenses but otherwise shows no shock at having been sneaked up on. A quick glance to the side rewards me with a humorous image: Quickley choking on his own spit. I shrug off the dwarf’s possessive arm, stand, and turn elegantly on my heel to come face to- er, _chest_ with the tall, statuesque Vint. Eyes like amethysts glimmer, humor swirling in their almost bottomless depths, betraying the man’s old age despite the youthfulness of his taut new face. Well, not really _new_. This visage is new to me but if he’s in Kirkwall that must mean he’s grown tired of it already.

The tall smuggler’s dark skin is flawless and he’s shaved and plucked off every bit of hair on his head from his beard to his eyebrows. He’s a bizarre sight, to be sure, especially since the last time I saw him he had light brown eyes, a face full of perfectly trimmed hair, and a head weighed down with a mess of curls. And he actually had eyebrows. Also, his face was entirely different from the set of his brow right down to the curvature of his jawline. I’d want to get rid of his current face, too, if I were him. As it stands, it’s sure to draw too much attention for this line of work.

I glance away from those enchanting, kohl-rimmed eyes to the small crate behind him. “Since you’ve completed your end of the job,” I tut, cutting my eyes to Quick who takes his sweet time getting up to pay the Vint for his work, “I’d say it’s time for your reward, serah.”

An easy grin spreads across the Vint’s full lips. “And that, my dear, is why you’re the only Marcher I like. Always so forthcoming with coin and always so polite.”

“She’s not from the Free Marches.” Des pipes up helpfully from behind me as she gets to her feet. “In fact, she’s Fereldan.”

The skin above the Vint’s eyes arches. “And why am I just now hearing about this? Dearest Solis, you don’t have the,” he waves his hand in the air, “ _aroma_ of a Fereldan, nor do you have the accent.” Amethyst eyes narrow but before he can continue with his inquisition, Quick is throwing a heavy purse of coin at the dark man. I swipe the leather purse from the air before it can nail our co-conspirator in the shoulder and lose us a contact. A warm hand grips my wrist gently and the purse is tugged from my fist, the Vint giving me an appreciative smile before shooting Quick an unamused look.

All I can do is watch as Des and Quick pry open the crate to start rifling through the contents, the sound of clinking glass filling the humid air. My job right now is to make sure the Vint doesn’t slither away before everything can be accounted for (not like he’s _ever_ tried before, but Quick insists on it since he thinks all foreigners are snakes). That’s the glamorous job of a smuggler guard. You have to be ready to directly deal with betrayal (that is, be ready to kill someone) and take a hit if there are any hits to be taken. Even killing blows meant for another member. Especially those.

Most other guards think the job starts and ends with looking intimidating. They’re basically what equates to a scarecrow in a cornfield- no real threat to competition or backstabbers, no real protection for the group. I only ever came across a few fellow guards who actually _did their job_ and one of them is on permanent retainer, another is dead, and the others jumped ship when Kirkwall stopped being a lucrative city to work in. But the point still stands that I have to be ready to kill the Vint.

It’s a little funny to me and perhaps insulting to the Vint, considering we’ve all worked together so many times that Quick should have at least a bit more trust in him. The Vint is sneaky, sure, but he’s super nice. Nicer than other contacts, for sure. Sometimes he’ll bring a “sample” of the shipment for us smugglers and sometimes, if you have any not-so-legally acquired artifacts and trinkets to sell, he’ll fence it. Two fingers slip along my pulse before the bald man relinquishes his grip. I bite my tongue before initiating some usual small-talk.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’s selling Mabari hounds, would you?” I ask, flexing my wrist behind my back. The skin where the Vint’s eyebrows should be crinkles up and I give him a look that dares him to make fun of me. I’ve been on the market for a Mabari ever since I stupidly promised Merrill one before I realized Fereldans basically worship the hounds and would die before _selling_ one to a foreigner.

A hearty laugh drips from the tall man’s lips and he squints those bizarre purple eyes at me. “Maybe you _are_ a true Fereldan after all. I don’t know of anyone at the moment, sweetling, but I’ll certainly point them your handler’s way if I ever come across a seller of those smelly hounds.”

My ha-? Oh, right. I’ve been out of the game so long that I forgot literally _no one_ knows where I live or how to get into contact with me, so if my services are needed or someone has a message for me, they go through my handler: Isabela. And how would they know where I live if I didn’t have Is? My name isn’t connected to any address (never has been) and I’m essentially a squatter. In truth, it’s a wonder the city hasn’t forcefully evicted my sorry ass from the only home I’ve known in Kirkwall, considering I have no legal rights to Bart’s estate.

Brushing off thoughts of eviction, I point out because the Vint _loves_ to have his ever-changing face be the focal point of our discussions, “You look more different than usual. Had you not spoken, I wouldn’t have even known that it was you at all.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t change my skin color or height, then.” A grin spreads across his face at my interested expression, revealing a line of startlingly white and unusually straight teeth. “Let me let you in on a little secret, Solis: I _always_ change my face when I come to Kirkwall. It’s the only reason I even come to this corner of the world, after all!” He taps his bottom lip, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Well, that, and to have the _pleasure_ of gazing upon your unchanging face once more.” That thin index finger crooks along his bottom lip and he bites it. I ignore him, already used to this song and dance. Besides, he isn’t nearly half as bad as Desdemona.

“So I’ve noticed. And that makes me wonder… is there a surgeon here?” I ask incredulously, eyeing his face critically for any telltale scars of facial reconstructive surgery. But there isn’t a single line on his incredibly smooth face and I haven’t heard even a whisper of anyone who can change someone’s face in Kirkwall. I’ve always wondered how he changes his face and who does it for him, but up until now I was never far enough out of the jackal’s earshot to ask (and asking personal questions of a contact anywhere near Quick automatically means you’re being unprofessional). “Not to be too rude, but you don’t have any scars or anything.”

“Oh, no.” The man laughs from his belly. “A blade has never touched this face, my dear.”

“Really?”

“Would I lie? Okay, don’t answer that. The thing is, I go to the Black Emporium to keep my adversaries on their toes.” He admits proudly.

_Wait…_

“I’ve heard of that place before,” I murmur mostly to myself. I think I recall walking a bruised teen home after he got jumped on his way out of the sewers… he had only been in there because he was looking for the black market or something. Oh, lord. The black market is an actual _place?_ Don’t I feel like quite the ass for laughing at Mike about it now.

“I knew you would have.” The Vint nods emphatically. “But I’m guessing you’ve never been?”

“No.”

The smuggler eyes me closely before reaching into his nondescript brown vest and pulling out a tattered letter. “Well, seeing as how you’re _impossible_ to get ahold of without Isabela’s say-so, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give you directions since you likely don’t receive letters at all. Just don’t tell anyone I gave-” The smuggler pauses, remembers himself, and then chuckles, “Oh, well it’s not like you know _my name_ anyway. What could it hurt?” He extends the tattered letter to me and waves it insistently, if not a bit impatiently, when I take too long to grab it.

“Thanks.” I glance down at the letter briefly before pocketing it. “Do they sell Mabaris there?”

Amethyst eyes roll. “You and your blasted Ma-”

“It’s all here. You can go now.” Quickley spits, sidling up behind the Vint, trying to make himself look larger and wider than he really is like he’s trying to intimidate a bear. It’s pretty funny, considering the Vint is so tall and could definitely bench-press Quick’s entire body weight without breaking a sweat. The man is far from having an intimidating physique.

The corner of the Vint’s mouth quirks, purple eyes glinting. A warm hand reaches out to pat my shoulder like the man is an old relative of mine and we ran into each other at the grocery store after not having seen each other in years- it’s too familiar a gesture for a smuggler to give another smuggler, and it earns me an ugly, accusatory scowl from Quickley. “I’ll be off, then. It was _so good_ doing business with you three again.” Our contact brushes some nonexistent lint from his plain leathers and just before he leaves, he shoots Quick a smile and simpers, “By the way, you smell like shit.”

I bite my lip and turn away so Quick can’t see my “disrespect.” It’s quiet as we all go back to surrounding the campfire. The sun is a bit too high for us to start heading back into Kirkwall- we have to enter the city at dusk and if we leave now we’ll get there when it’s still daylight. Des sits next to Quick this time and the two have their heads together, murmuring. Briefly I wonder where Frain is. I feel a bit bad for her, to tell the truth. First she gets hounded by Des and now, since she was absent for our dealings with the Vint, she’s probably going to get lambasted by Quick.

“Leave her be, Amos.” Is all the warning I get before I’m being hauled up by my left arm, a punishing grip on my upper arm that’s sure to leave bruises. Not a sound escapes me, already accustomed to Amos Quickley’s penchant for getting physical when his fragile ego gets shaken up. Des’ eyes are full of caution, face tight. The last time Amos physically assaulted me, he ended up with a broken nose and I had to answer to Isabela. Then, after I told her what went down, _he_ had to answer to Isabela. And I think Desdemona fears Isabela’s future-wrath more than she does the imminent threat of whatever I’ll do to her lover.

Quick grabs my shoulders tightly and shoves me with enough force that I stumble back. “You’re awful fuckin’ cozy with the Vint. You know that? In fact, you’re always gettin’ close to the competition. If it weren’t for me, you’d be nothing! Remember that, Solis.” His tone is accusatory, expression poisonous, but I can’t find it in myself to be intimidated or frightened. The only thing I’ll be leaving here with is a couple of bruises, maybe a busted lip, and a headache from his histrionics. Amos? Not to sound like a _total_ brute, but I feel like breaking his arm for thinking he can manhandle me any time he wants.

_Think of Anders’ clinic. Think of the Hawkes._

Son of a bitch! I close my eyes, irritated that the idiot I’m blackmailing has to be _this_ idiot. Sure, we’ve thrown punches at each other, but I doubt Amos and his lover will care about “returning favors” or even hiring me for another job if I end up crippling him this time. And to top it all off, Desdemona could ruin me. One word from her and no one would touch me with a ten foot pole and I _don’t_ want to force Isabela to save my reputation again. Though Des appreciated that I shared her same code of blackmail, it’s highly unlikely that she’ll let me get away with pulverizing her lover.

_Unless you kill her._

I shake my head at Amos to express my disdain and to shake away that thought. “Except he’s _not_ competition, dumbass. He’s the producer, we’re the middle-men, and assholes like Marvin are the consumers.” I point out like I’m a foul-mouthed kindergarten teacher giving Amos Quickley a very elementary lecture on our lot in life. “People like us will never be on someone like the Vint’s level. Me being kind does us all a hell of a lot more than you acting like a dick. If it was just you on these jobs, you’d have lost _all_ your contacts with your shit personality by now. So, stop thinking you’re more important than you really are and stop acting like I owe my damn life to you- I didn’t get my start with you, I got it with _Isabela_. So you remember _that_.”

And that none-too-subtle name-drop shoots the argument dead in the face. Quick backs off, a defeated scowl on his face, and returns to Des with his tail between his legs. A pang of disgust shoots through my stomach when I realize I’m actually disappointed that I didn’t get to lay into him. The desire for Amos Quickley’s blood on my knuckles is disturbing… but not entirely unusual. The asshat tends to stir up my bloodlust. With a deep, heavy breath, I make myself comfortable by the fire and wait for nightfall. It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

“Are you even awake? Don’t make this a wasted trip.” A frustrated voice huffs, sounding close and far away at the same time.

I open my eyes and flop onto my back like a limp pancake, irritated that I fell asleep around people like Amos and Des (and surprised I didn’t wake up with a dagger in my chest). The red sky overhead is calm, almost peaceful, as it swirls at a lethargic pace like water going down a drain. It’s been a while since I had one of these dreams and I have to admit, I’ve sort of missed it. A balmy breeze nearly makes me fall back asleep but a painful jab to my ribs has me rolling away from whatever just hit me. Now fully awake, I glower in the direction of my assailant only to find a bored looking teen with carnelian eyes and dark brown hair staring at me. My mind blanks.

“Mike!” I gasp. Before I can stop myself, before I can think back to the _last_ time we were around each other, I throw myself at my kid brother and hug him. He smells like a memory, like buttery pomade that does nothing to tame the frizziness of his hair and some spicy, musky soap. It’s like nothing has even changed. A dull pain blossoms in my chest as my brother shoves me away, a disgusted look on his face at having been hugged by his embarrassing sister. “Ow!” I yelp dramatically as I land on my back, even though this pain is like accidentally bumping my elbow into a doorframe compared to the other crap I’ve been though (like having half my leg pulled off, for example).

The boy sighs, “Fucking calm down, Jesus. You don’t have to yell.”

“First off, my name isn’t Jesus, and secondly I certainly _won’t_ be calm. I haven’t seen you in _ages!_ What took you so long?” I halt my scolding for a second to look around. We’re on a plush white bed in the middle of a field of pale yellow reeds. Honestly, it looks like we’re on the set of some cheesy country music video set in the underworld, what with that hellish red sky. “What’s up with the bed? Didn’t take you for some corny romantic who likes this style.” I question, pulling myself up into a sitting position, fighting against the urge to lie back down on the soft bed. It’s much softer than anything I’ve ever owned.

Mike rolls his eyes at my question and replies almost caustically, “You tell me. _You’re_ the one who came up with this, dork.”

 _Right. This is_ my _dream. So, why is he here? How is he here?_

Cheeks burn faintly. “Oh.”

“Anyway,” Mike yanks one of the overstuffed pillows from the head of the bed and hugs it to his chest, “I have a bone to pick with you, Bill. Why are you hanging around Anders like some fangirl?”

“I… needed answers.” I admit lamely, feeling myself blush under his intense gaze. I didn’t expect Mike would know that I’ve started hanging around Anders’ clinic, shoving notes under his nose when he isn’t elbow-deep in someone’s guts and when I’m not out working shady jobs to buy more supplies. I guess in that time Julian found a way to communicate this to Mike and Kiriyama. Hell, Kiri has probably been popping by to check in on us since he and Jules are BFFs or some crap. But my brother’s heated gaze keeps me from thinking on the ins and outs of the Kiri-Julian dynamic for too long.

Michael fixes me with a stern look and prods, “About?”

“Summoned.”

The boy gives an exhausted sigh like he’s some fed up parent and I’m an obnoxious child. “You think _he_ can give you more information than I already did just because of _Justice?_ All you’re accomplishing is exposing yourself and opening yourself up to a world of hurt. Bill, don’t be such a tool.”

“A world of hurt?” I balk. “And you call _me_ dramatic?”

“Anders is volatile.”

I roll my eyes at that exaggeration. “Sure, the man has a serious case of tunnel-vision with his mage agenda but he’s hardly volatile.” The loaded look my brother gives me has me growing more and more defensive. “Anders has been _helpful!_ Hell, he’s actually become a friend since he realized I actually give a damn about him. Sort of.”

“So, you’ve told him everything already? About what you are? How you were brought here? Where you came from?” His grip on the pillow tightens like he’s trying to strangle it and the fabric of his plain white tunic strains against his arms.

This line of questioning has me on edge. His tone, that sharpness with every question has my hackles rising. “Uh… Yeah. Hawke, too.”

“Hawke,” Mike repeats, face devoid of emotion, grip on the pillow slackening.

“Yes.”

For the longest moment, Mike just stares before finally seeming to acquiesce. “Fine. Whatever. Do _whatever_ you want, just like you _always_ do. As long as your ‘friendship’ doesn’t veer Anders off the path he needs to take, I don’t give a damn about you enjoying his company. What I don’t understand is why you think you need to go to him or anyone else for information.” Mike huffs, dark brown hair glowing red under that eerie sky. “I gave you all the answers you needed, right?”

“You mean the scrolls and the book? Mike none of that even makes any sense.”

He rolls his eyes again, just in case I missed it the first time around. “Have you been talking to Julian? If you have, then it would make a lot of sense to you by now.”

“Yeah. About that? About you saying that I need to rely on that guy and how he's such a _trustworthy_ fellow? Julian has been acting weird and is as helpful as an early morning DMV worker,” I snap. “I'd appreciate if everyone pulled their head out of their collective ass to stop stonewalling me, but apparently I don't have the right clearance to know even a _hint_ of anything other than random tidbits about what it means to be Summoned. And anyway, Julian _threw a damn book at my face_ , so excuse me for not tripping all over myself to gently coax him or whatever it takes to get him to open up.”

“But did the book hit you?” At the way I gawk at him, Mike backpedals and corrects himself, “Not that it’s cool that he threw something at you, but think about the context. You like to push people away and hurt feelings without a care in the world. He was feeling betrayed and you weren’t making the situation any better.”

“How do you know what happened?”

“He told me.”

I suck my teeth, feeling my irritation rocketing up at a dangerous speed. So, he _has_ been talking to him? I suppose it’s all with Kiriyama’s aid, too. “Did he tell you _everything_? If he did, then you'd know my ignorance isn't the product of a lack of trying to get information. Why can't you people just tell me what's up? How hard is it to do that?” Take a breath. I have to reel myself back in, keep myself from raising my voice since Mike is making me out to be evasive.

There's so much that I'm not understanding here. Rather than just tell me what I want to know outright, it's like Kiriyama, Julian, and now _Michael_ are wanting me to jump through hoops. Is there some hazing ceremony that I have to go through, too? 'Cause these three are beginning to make me feel like my only option for information is Anders' reliance on Justice and maybe even my reliance on Carrow, for that matter... If I can get him to stop thinking that Kiri is a gatekeeper.

Mike scratches his chin, something he does when he’s thinking. “Well... I can see that you're frustrated. But Julian will come around.”

“Oh? He’ll come around, you say? _Hm_ … I have to wonder why you’re taking this perfect stranger’s side all the time. Why is that?” I snap, admittedly insulted. Because, hey, Mike is my _brother_ , my _relative_ , so he should defend me from someone who means next to nothing to us both. But he isn’t. He’s siding with Julian. And, yeah, that really burns me. “Why are you acting like you know him so intimately? Why are you acting like you can comment on his motives and intentions? Why are you acting like he _definitely_ won’t hurt me when he’s shown me otherwise?”

For a moment, Michael just watches me. A warm breeze disrupts the silence, a soft hush in the air. That’s when I realize it’s a little humid, making the fluffy white duvet stick to my skin. Suddenly this isn’t a comforting dream. There are all these little things from the barely audible sucking sound coming from the drain in the sky, to the stifling humidity, to the faint smell of decay from the reeds, to the way my brother’s face doesn’t move that all accumulates and creates an uncomfortable atmosphere. Before I can break the silence, Mike does it first. “Julian would never hurt you,” he says flatly.

I open my mouth, almost choke on the thickness of the air and the aroma of rot. “You two are starting to repeat yourselves.” I fight back a gag, feeling odd. “He nearly herniated yelling at me, so pardon me for not believing you when you say he wouldn’t hurt me and _pardon me_ for finding it hard to believe that he's going to do a 180 and become a thoughtful Summoned instructor. He's already shown me that I can't trust him. When I say something he doesn’t like, he goes off. And you want me to take responsibility for that? You want to make _me_ wrong for being uncomfortable around someone I should supposedly trust?”

“He knows who you are. He would never, ever hurt you.”

The way he says it, that secretive little look on his face and the unfamiliar glint in his eyes makes any questions I have fly right out of my head like frightened little birds. Where I would normally, gladly, jump at the opportunity to find out why Mike trusts Julian so much, I find myself subconsciously scooting away from my brother. I find that I can no longer look him in the eye. Voice comes out soft, submissive, “Okay...” Looking to change the subject, I ask, “How are you able to be here, anyway?”

“If you’d read the book-”

“It’s in _another language_ ,” I argue, cheeks flushed, unease forgotten and replaced with indignation. I squint at my little brother. "Did you not even _notice_ that?"

He pauses, purses his lips. “You’re right. Oops. I forgot that you can’t read Ancient Tevene.”

That makes me pause. I look at him long and hard. The suspicion must be evident in my face, because Mike looks away when I ask, “And _you_ can? I don’t remember taking you to any after-school classes to learn Ancient Tevene. In fact, you hated learning foreign languages. You transferred out of Spanish during the first month of the class and opted for public speaking instead.”

Dark eyes pierce me. “It’s a long story that I don’t think you’re ready to hear right now. Especially considering you don’t even _listen_.”

“I’m listening right now, aren’t I?” But I get the strangest feeling that’s not what he means.

Rolling his shoulders, my brother gives me a pointed look and drawls, “Anyway, it’s actually a good thing that you’re _finally_ doing some research for yourself. Maybe this way, you’ll be able to work yourself up to the point that you’ll be ready to hear the truth.”

“Really? You sounded like you wanted to beat my ass for employing Anders’ help,” I snort. However, that statement isn’t completely joking. Mike genuinely looked like he wanted to cause me physical harm for going to Anders about the Summoned situation. He almost looked like our mom when I would get disobedient. That sort of malicious look- predatory and scornful all at once, making me shrink into myself, making me tense up in preparation for an assault that would inevitably be brushed off as me asking for it somehow.

“I do but I don’t,” my brother admits perhaps a bit too honestly. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger- which you’re doing, since Anders has a penchant for the extreme- but I won’t be mad _if_ you take this opportunity to start trying to get a better handle on your compulsion.” When he sees my guilty expression, my brother sighs and claps his hand on my knee awkwardly. “Look, I don’t blame you for what happened between us. But you need to work on this. For everyone’s sake.” He’s never been very good at consoling people.

“How would I go about controlling it?” I ask cautiously.

_And how would he even know?_

“That’s...” Mike frowns. There’s a ripple across his face, some strange emotion, before he returns his gaze to me. His expression is cool, calculating, and mildly frustrated. “Compulsion without context is taxing. Reading people, however, isn’t. Especially when you consider your nature. Trying to compel someone without knowing the weak spots in their psyche is foolish and takes too much energy. You need to pay more attention to what a person says with their words and what they don’t say with their body so that you’ll have a better understanding of how they work- desires, motivations, fears.”

“Okay, that sounds doable.” I scratch my nose. “Sounds a bit like a psychology class but I can deal with it.”

“Reading people is a gateway to manipulation,” Mike explains. “You were only able to successfully compel Bartlett Sauveterre because he was lonely and you provided the promise of company in his empty home. Carver Hawke was lonely, too, and you reminded him of someone. You were only able to compel Elin Hoge because his mental state was lowered in the frenzy of battle and force was all he was willing to listen to. And Douglas Bray? By preying on his sexual attraction to you by adding physical touch to your commands, you were able to compel him. However, on each occasion, you utilized compulsion recklessly.”

I freeze. “How do you know about-?”

“As an Eye, you’ll hear a voice, sometimes several, just as you fixate on your target. Listen for the clearest one and focus on it _before_ you compel someone. That should make things easier for you; you shouldn’t purge if you listen to the voice.”

“But how do you-?” I try to ask again only to be interrupted… _again_.

Mike cuts me off, tone even, “Right now, you don’t listen and that’s dangerous. In the past, you got lucky. You didn’t focus on the voices and just heard what might have sounded like blood rushing in your ears and chose to ignore it. But that has to stop. If you keep ignoring the voices, you might not be so lucky in the future and channel the wrong one when you finally listen.”

My previous question is placed on the back-burner at that as I sputter out, “C-Come again?”

“When you use compulsion, you don’t _have_ to call on spirits the way mages do to use their magic. But you can call on them when the situation is dire and you _need_ your compulsion to take. Because all those people you compelled had one thing in common: some part of them wanted whatever it was you offered. So… it was easy for you. The compulsion took. However, if and _when_ you find yourself in a position where you have to compel someone who wants no part in what you’re doing to them, what will you do?”

I startle at his question. It’s such a weird question. It seems like Mike thinks my compulsion is way more necessary than it really is. So, I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll do something else, I guess. I don’t always have to rely on compulsion, Mike. You know I’m, uh, pretty good at beating people up, so...”

“If it’s life or death? With other people’s lives on the line?” Mike’s face is unmoving. “The voices you hear, the spirits who eagerly come to you to help you compel someone, can sometimes be demons; perverted and willing to help you _break_ someone. You haven’t listened to one yet, so you don’t have any experience with channeling spirits. But if the situation presents itself and you find yourself in a position where you _need_ a spirit to come to your aid? If you accept a _demon’_ _s_ aid… well...”

“If I call for a demon… what?” I press slowly, not liking how he trailed off all mysteriously like he’s telling me a ghost story. “What’s gonna happen? Am I going to get possessed?”

Michael throws me a quick, reflexive smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Like most mortal creatures, Summoned are composed of a spirit and a physical body. However, a Summoned’s spirit is incompatible with their body because their body is more of a shell than anything. Because of this, it’s easier for spirits and demons to remove an unsuspecting Summoned from their body since there’s no tether; they don’t even really need to ask at that point, because by accepting their aid you accept their presence within you. And when that happens, the Summoned is stuck with nowhere to go; left to roam aimlessly.”

“So, you’re saying if I need to compel someone and need help doing it, I put myself at risk for… What? Eviction? Why not just call it what it is, kid? Just tell me I’ll get possessed. There’s really no point in mincing words with this shit.” I frown at the tremor in my voice and I frown even more for swearing at my brother so harshly.

“You put yourself at risk for getting exiled to the Fade- the only place you would be able to continue existing like other spirits.” When he sees the alarm on my face, Mike sighs. “I thought you wanted me to be honest? And it’s not as direct a threat as you might think. It’s easily avoidable.”

_Like other spirits?_

“Yeah, right.” I laugh breathlessly, feeling lightheaded. I can’t find it in myself to comment on anything else, to say anything else. The world spins off-kilter. My skull might as well be a blender with my brain getting completely pulverized. But I wanted answers, right? Now that I'm finally getting them, they're hitting harder than I wanted. “What would even be the point of asking for help, then? Why can’t I just stick with using regular old compulsion _without_ a spirit?”

“Because you need to practice and because you can’t rely on Dermot to keep your link to the Fade forever. He’s dying, remember? And since Julian says you _refuse_ to attach yourself to a blood mage, you need to start relying on the spirit so you don’t get drained each time you need to compel someone; a link can be built if you open yourself fully to it. Besides, if you were to get ‘evicted,’ you could always reclaim your body. However, it would take a lot of time and energy on both our parts.”

Both our parts? I’m about to ask what he means by that when another, more pertinent question pops into my head. “How am I supposed to avoid this easily avoidable eviction, then? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t want some bitch-ass demon walking around in my skin-suit, pretending to be me.”

Mike’s upper lip quirks. “All you have to do is listen for the clear voice. That’s the only voice you should trust, the only spirit you should trust.”

He’s being about as cryptic as a damn sphinx and it’s starting to try my nerves. He just told me that the next time I compel someone with the aid of a spirit/demon I could end up possessed- but not really. I would be banished to the Fade. _Banished_. This entire conversation has me feeling infuriated and dizzy, but mostly like I’m going to pass out like a wimp. Anger bubbles in my gut, chasing away the fear. But I don’t want to snap at Mike. He’s easily offended and likes shutting me out when I hurt his feelings, so I can’t be so careless. My voice shakes but I smile. “Okay, then. Who is this _mysterious_ spirit?”

“The spirit who brought you here. Your true summoner.”

“And that is…? What? Who? Does no one know this damn spirit’s name?” I sigh at myself for letting my anger drive me. In a pleasantly strained voice, I say, “Please tell me that book has that lovely spirit’s name in it or I’m going to lose my damn mind. I’m sick of knowing jack-all about anything that’s going on. Why can’t anyone just _tell me_ what I want to know?”

Mike sighs, long and exasperated. “Bill, I’ve been learning about this since practically the moment I came here. You _need_ to practice this. If you keep compelling people the way that you do after Dermot is dead, then _you’ll_ die and it won’t be the Fade that you go to, there won’t be any way for me to bring you back from that. Just trust me and listen for the voice and _keep listening_ no matter what. You _do_ trust me, don’t you?” Those carnelian eyes blink at me, wide and pleading.

There are several things that I find wrong with what my brother just said, but… Looking into that cherubic face, I feel a bit of the tension coiled in my gut start to loosen. I remember him as a little boy, making that same face to try and get out of trouble when he’d do something bad- and that “something bad” was usually just hurting someone’s feelings with that sharp tongue of his. It’s funny how I’d get into fist fights as a kid and Mike would cut someone down with his words. A smile comes hesitantly to my face and I nod. “Of course I trust you, Mikey. Implicitly.”

He smiles, too. It reaches his eyes this time. “Then promise me the next time you go to compel someone you’ll listen for the voice and let it guide you. You have to practice this.”

“I promise.” I relent and turn to toying with the duvet. Although this whole thing about listening to voices makes my insides squirm, I _do_ trust my brother. And he would never lead me astray. Why would he? He never has before. I just wish he’d tell me everything I want to know instead of playing games. But I’ve missed him and I’ll be damned if I ruin this by being too pushy. However, I think I can afford to be a bit pushy if these visits become a constant thing. More face-time with Mike would mean more time for Q &A sessions. After a moment, I glance up warily and murmur, “So… are you going to do this often?”

A dark eyebrow quirks up and Mike asks, “Do what?”

“Visit me in my sleep.”

There’s something strange in my brother’s face but I ignore it as he says earnestly, “I can visit you every night if you want.”

I grin and try not to show my unease. “Yeah. I’d love that.” I open my arms and he rolls his eyes, scooting over to me until he’s within reach for me to embrace him. Taking in his scent, I close my eyes, nose buried in his dark hair. He’s warm and soft, comforting and familiar. He lets me hold him. It’s… a little odd. I’m not complaining, mind, it’s just… Mike never does this. Slowly, cautiously, my brother wraps his arms around me like he’s never hugged anyone before in his entire life.

His voice comes out strained, hushed and low in my ear. It gives me goosebumps. “Careful who you trust, Bill. This world is a den of vipers to someone like you.”

I awake with an uneasy feeling stirring in my gut, low and cold. Turning on my side, I freeze when I spot Frain across the campfire from me, a curved dagger in her hand. Her leather-clad legs are pulled up to her chest, the blade balanced on her knees. The silver glints in the dying light of the fire, reflecting up into her dark green eyes. My initial instinct is to ask her what the hell her problem is, but something tells me to keep quiet, stoic, intimidating. My side grows stiff but I don’t budge. After several long moments, those green eyes turn away; a soft, delicate jaw clenches at that submissive move.

_A damn den of voyeuristic vipers that like daggers, apparently._


	43. Take Three

**34\. Take Three**

The hike back to Kirkwall is quiet and it’s not because Quick and I are stuck lugging a heavy crate between us or that there’s tension between me and the half-elf due to our non-scuffle. We’re used to fighting (verbally and physically) to the point that we can both just _get over it_ in a surprisingly short period of time with no bad blood and we’ve had to carry an unconscious Douglas back to Kirkwall before and he weighs _way_ more than a crate of lyrium. No, the main issue, for me, is my dream. My wonderfully prophetic dream. I don’t know what everyone else’s issue is but I honestly couldn’t give two goddamns. Co-worker of the year, I know. I’ve got that award in the bag.

But back to my issue with that weird-ass dream. At first I was fooled- I got _got_. I was 100% on board with whatever it was Mike told me. He honestly could’ve told me to jump off a cliff into a dragon den for good luck and you can bet your sweet ass I would have done it with gusto. I woke up from that dream invigorated and with renewed purpose. A fire burned in me to do right by my brother. I _trusted_ that he was there, looking out for me. And then the night dragged on and the embers cooled. My head cleared and doubt creeped up on me because let’s be real for a second: A lot of the things that were said and done in that dream didn’t add up and they still don’t.

As the muscles in my left arm tightened and strained against the weight of the crate, Mike’s serene face flashed before my eyes. Every missed opportunity to emote, every nuance in speech patterns and queer little statement turned into a pebble to be tossed onto a growing, mental pile of things about the dream that were very, very wrong. And then his _instructions_ … The lyrium bottles tinkled together, the glass sounds muffled by cloth and wood, and I was hit by that underlying stench of decay like rotting foliage that permeated the dreamscape. It churned my stomach and I had to make Quick stop before I dropped my end of the crate. There was a mountain of pebbles on my mind.

In truth, when I get down to it, I don’t think that Mike was really there in my dream. Or maybe he was and…? No, there were too many things about him that just seemed slightly off enough to make me doubt it. But the familiar mannerisms were all there, that condescending attitude, that face. I’m conflicted because only someone like my brother would be so domineering and brusque when telling me to essentially get possessed. Because that’s what he told me, right? “Listen to the voice?” I had basked in his presence, savored the familiarity, and stupidly didn’t take him to task when I had him _right there_ in front of me. I’d smiled. I’d been a supplicant. I didn’t know any better.

But the warnings? The _advice_? I was already called to heed the advice borne from my dreamscape once before and when I didn’t follow through it came back to swiftly bite me in the ass- then again, I wasn’t exactly prepped to straight-up murder someone the minute I woke up on the Wounded Coast. This time around, I said that I would do as I was told and I actually might. Yeah, I know that sounds like I just slapped my hand on my own self-destruct button. I’m being fed half-truths and I’m expected to follow orders disguised as suggestions. However, I’m not nearly oblivious enough to deem the little tip that Kirkwall is a den of vipers as being false. Because it is. It was before I got here and I’ve worked with vipers since I arrived. And Frain?

_It’s not like I actually needed to be warned about her._

Eyes shoot the blonde a stealthy glance safely hidden in the protective shadow of my cowl. She walks like her delicate chin guides her, white nose pointed in the air, golden curls bouncing loose from her bun. Emerald eyes stare straight ahead and her hands rest at her sides, swaying just a bit with each step. I prod my tongue into my cheek. Every newbie smuggler I’ve come across acts like their hands are fused to their weapons. They’re fidgety, tense, and vary from either talking a mile a minute or being as quiet as a mouse. A pinch of frustration tugs at my frontal lobe and I bite back a sigh. Though I’ve worked with shitty, deceitful people for years it would be really great if _just once_ their ill intentions weren’t directed at me.

A split-second of restlessness mixed with recklessness almost has me asking her here and now what her damage is… to “listen to the voice” and use her as practice. Because what’s the worst that could happen out here on the Coast? I get possessed like I suspected? At least then I would be possessed and _not_ in Kirkwall, _not_ around my allies. That rationalization, that stupidity, almost sells me on the idea. Teeth dig into my tongue and I force myself to trudge onward toward Kirkwall, urge myself to hold my tongue or lose it as we amble through the sewers, scream internally at myself to go home when Frain gives me a lingering, mysterious look as she turns and heads off who knows where once Quick tells her to screw off.

“Good riddance, I say.” Desdemona announces from my side, freckled arms crossed over her chest. “She broke one of our golden rules. She’s not fit for this work.”

I release my tongue to ask snidely, “We have rules?”

The dwarf inhales deeply and exhales loudly. “Of course we do. They’re unspoken rules but they exist. Frain asked me where you live.”

Halting in the middle of asking her if these rules are carved in stone tablets, I choke out the ass-end of that lame joke, “Are they carved in- where I live?”

A ginger eyebrow rises. “Sorry?”

I snuff out the anxiety and replace it with my trademarked smarm. “When did she ask and for what purpose? You know I have a thing for blondes.”

“When you were asleep-” Des ticks answers off on her blunted fingers, “-and probably because she wants to get in your bed or slit your throat. I wouldn’t go opening my door for _that_ particular blonde, though. These things can go either way in my experience.” And I briefly wonder why she and Quick continue their open-door policy in their bedroom if an attempt on Des’ life has already been made in intimate moments. But I quickly steer myself back on track. Especially since my own hide is more important to me and because, when it comes down to it, it’s none of my damn business.

“And you didn’t tell her.” I state more than ask.

Des gives me a peculiar look- a mix between amused and offended. It’s a little hard to tell which emotion is more dominant, considering how awful the lighting is in Kirkwall’s midnight alleyways with nary a torch in sight. “Of course. I don’t know where you live and even if I did, our outfit isn’t in the habit of revealing personal information.” Definitely offended. Her voice got a little high and accusatory toward the end.

I glance away awkwardly, shamed by the fact that Desdemona is the nicest, most sincere smuggler I know and yet I’m blackmailing her. Well, blackmailing her _lover_ but still- she’s caught in the crossfire of my indomitable sense of self-preservation. “Right.” I cough.

After getting paid, I debate if I should go home or rent a room at The Man. Why? Because while I am as hard to kill as a cockroach mostly due to sheer pigheadedness, it’s also due to extreme paranoia that’s helped me more than hindered me. My mind starts its usual cycle of fixating on a potential threat and running through all possible grisly scenarios that could happen. I rationalize that this unhealthy process “prepares me” for action. Tonight’s leading lady is Frain. Her blonde hair has me thinking of Carrow despite her not being a mage and her ominous, almost dead-eyed stare reinforces the connection. God, those two are like sharks.

The ashy grays and dusty browns of Kirkwall's Lowtown seem even duller than before and I begin to wonder if I'm tiring of the city. Or maybe I'm just tired? God, I'm downright exhausted if I'm being honest with myself. I'm tired of fighting, tired of worrying, tired of not knowing _anything_. This lack of knowledge makes my stride falter. Coming to a stumbling halt, I stand in the courtyard with my home to my left and Gamlen's to my right. I'm already home but I want to go back. Back to the alley where us smugglers had our heads together. Back there so I can try and pursue Celeste. Get it over with. Lift the veil. I mean, everyone I know is sure to be asleep. And you can feel when you’re getting possessed, right? Once I feel it, I could… run? Get the hell out of Kirkwall?

_Don't be stupid!_

After some brief self-flagellation in which I tell myself the opportunity has passed, I trudge on over to my door. Shouldering open the door after fumbling with the handle for a bit, I freeze when I spot a slender figure standing stoically in the middle of the room. I almost don’t even notice it- its silhouette bleeding into the shadows of the darkened room. Stepping to the side, I allow moonlight to flood into the room. The figure has one hand up to their chin, fingers curled into a lazy fist. Blonde curls are swept into a tight bun at the nape of the figure's neck, turned pale to the point of looking white by the moonlight. Harsh green eyes cut to me when I inhale sharply.

"Frain? What are you doing here?" I ask cautiously, still in the doorway. I haven't closed the door because _what the hell_? I was just contemplating hunting the woman down and now she’s here. And here to do what, exactly? Kill me? Steal from me? The latter is doubtful since the woman clearly wants for nothing with her finely stitched clothes that would be the envy of any noblewoman. But then I remember eyeing her up when we first met and taking note of the peculiar state of her fancy boots. So… better not take “theft” off the table just yet.

" _This_ is your home?" Comes Frain's snootily accented voice and I can't help but roll my eyes. She's acting like I live in a freakin' pig pen, for crying out loud. Her delicate nose is scrunched up and her pink lips are curved down into a grimace as she surveys the cramped room as best as she can in the limited light. Her expression turns more and more sour as her gaze alights on shabby beds with rickety frames, busted shutters, and the cluttered area around the fireplace. She looks downright mortified when she realizes that the clutter at the fireplace is a collection of "commoner's" tea, a banged up pot, and the bucket Julian and I use to fetch water.

_Did she just stand in darkness forever and not see anything before I got here? Jesus._

With a frown, I step inside and close the door behind me. "Obviously. Otherwise, why would you be here? I highly doubt you stumbled in here thinking this was _your_ home." I wait for a moment but the woman doesn't say anything. I cross the room. The fireplace is lit, my shoulders tense at having her at my back as I do this, and I sigh, "I'll rephrase in case you didn't catch onto the subtle nuance of my language: What are you doing here in my house, Frain?" I round on her, relieved to find that she _hasn’t_ drawn her dagger on me. At least not yet.

The blonde stops looking disgusted long enough to throw me a bored look. In three swift steps, the woman closes the space between us and announces, "I have a business proposition for you, Solis."

Frain is about a head taller than me, so I have to tilt my face up a bit to match her gaze. My cheeks immediately flush when I realize how close she is (so close that I'm able to smell some delicate floral scent on her mixed with the musk of her leathers), which brings a patronizing smile to her lips. Breaking eye contact, I cross my arms over my chest and snort, "Oh, yeah? Forgive me for being skeptical, but I highly doubt you have smuggling jobs lined up to be offering _me_ anything. And offering it to me in my home, no less. That’s not how this business is done." I level her with an unamused look. “Speaking of which, you’ve yet to answer my question. Twice. Make it a third time and neither of us will be very happy, I assure you.”

She must know that I’ll follow through with that threat because she responds quickly, "It was no trouble finding out where you live." Frain shrugs, crossing her arms over her waist which is an elegant and haughty gesture. My upper lip twitches and she continues, “Though the half-breed and the dwarf may not be concerned enough about their hirelings to dig up very shallowly buried information, you piqued my interest.”

“From the sounds of it, you knew who I was before I even met you. Amos said you only wanted the job to meet me.” And she must have either bribed an urchin or she has a contact here in Kirkwall whom she got my housing info from between the time she left the alley and the ten minutes (max) that it took for me to lightly grill Des and get home afterward.

Pink lips tighten into a forced smile. “I admit I heard rumors about you. A moderately attractive bruiser who can keep a woman safe? And all I have to do is pay well and she will keep a secret, too? I have been on the market for such a person.”

Pretty much the second she brought up my appearance the top of my left eyelid started twitching uncontrollably. It’s always the petty ones without a leg to stand on who have to pick at physical appearance like it’s a crucial part of my damn job description. However, I still manage to push through my internal and external irritation to query, “And you decided to fork over coin to pretend to be a smuggler because…?”

“I wanted to see you in action.”

“In a guaranteed action-less job? I don’t buy it, love, and you can’t buy me.” I look her up and down, laying the disdain on thick because, hey, I can be petty as all hell, too. “You can’t even afford me.”

“Excuse me?” Frain scoffs, and for a second I think I’m in Hightown.

With an exaggerated roll of my eyes I point lazily from her cloak down to her boots. “You’re dressed to the nines, sure, but you don’t have money.” I brush by her; brush through her attempt to intimidate me by cornering me by the fireplace in my own home, no less. My pack is thrown unceremoniously at the foot of my bed with a subdued thud before I return my gaze to the blonde. The sight I’m met with fills me with sick glee. Her face is practically as white as flour with rage.

“And what, pray tell, gives you the right to speculate about the state of my finances?” Her voice has taken on a tremulous quality that I savor.

_Try not to get off too much on ruffling her feathers, sicko._

I clear my throat with a cough. “The fact that you claim to want to hire me. With what money? I’ve learned a thing or two from a very dear friend and you’re the most well-dressed broke person I’ve ever come across.” I prattle on in an airy tone, loving the way her cheeks start to bleed red. I point to her boots. “Finely made, worth a small fortune, but they’re scuffed. Anyone who paid that much for those wouldn’t wear them out to the Coast or in the sewers and they definitely wouldn’t let them get in _that_ condition. _If_ you had money, you’d have them sent in to a cobbler, get those scuff marks buffed out and polished. The soles would have also been replaced long ago. I have to admit, though, you’ve taken fine care of them and they look great for not having had professional work done on them in years.”

“How-?”

“That dear friend I mentioned? She taught me how to avoid getting scammed by new employers who had a penchant for putting on airs. A person’s shoes say a lot about them and the employers who acted like they were royalty _and_ had unkempt shoes always tried to stiff me or had a million excuses for why they couldn’t pay me. So, if you can’t afford to have your expensive boots cleaned up you definitely can’t afford my protection.” She’s positively fuming now. Well, as “fuming” as someone like her can be. Her face is stoic, practically an ice sculpture, and despite this she makes no move to leave. With a quiet exhale through my nose I ask, "Who let you in, anyway? Julian?" I don't miss the way her shoulders stiffen and how her gaze turns so sharp that I swear she cuts me with a look.

_Making note of that._

She scoffs. "Your lock is child’s play."

"Sure."

Tilting her head, the blonde suddenly extends her hand. Like a switch was flipped, she’s all charm. "We were never formally introduced, you know. I am _Celeste_ Frain. Please, call me Celeste. Frain has always sounded so brutish to me."

I take her hand dubiously like I'm grabbing a bear trap that _might_ be busted or might clamp down on me. "Wilhelmina Solis. But you can stick to just calling me Solis, Frain." After I let go of her hand, I have the intense desire to wipe my hand off on my thigh but I fight it since I want to at least appear civilized. "It's nice to meet you- formally, I mean. But why the sudden introduction?" I hook my thumbs into my belt, pretending to be aloof.

"Despite all that you have said, I still want to hire you. And I _can_ pay, regardless of what you think." Celeste says bluntly and just lets that statement hang in the air as she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, looking at everything but not touching a thing. Her thin black cloak makes the softest sighing noise as she moves and it's at this moment that I realize how sinister her attire is. She looks like a movie villain with her black leathers that have some floral pattern embroidered in them in silver thread and her black and silver-trimmed cloak completes the ensemble.

After watching her for a moment, I slowly make my way to the table just as she gets there. In one elegant motion, she's sitting with her hands resting on the table and her ankles crossed like a proper lady. After adjusting my Lord on my back, I sit heavily as well. Mentally, I make note of every weapon that's stored around the house: the daggers, the old swords, and the poisons- hell, even a bow and a couple of flimsy arrows that I promised myself I'd learn to use but never got around to it since I'm shit at archery.

"What’s the job?" I ask, voice flat and uninterested.

Celeste almost looks uncomfortable. Almost. I don't think her ego can allow her to look unsure of herself, though. The pale woman watches me closely, green eyes almost glowing, as she answers slowly, "I need you to escort me to Hasmal."

_Cue Tim Allen’s grunt._

Okay. Nobody just up and decides that they want to take a trip to Hasmal for funsies. The place has a reputation for being a refuge for Tevinter slaves (which I only know about because an ex-slave had loose lips) and the only people who go there have family there, are on the run, or they’re looking to try and stir up trouble- basically the same reasons anyone would come to a shithole like Kirkwall. "You _do_ know that I don’t do escort jobs, right?" I ask flippantly, ignoring the way my stomach seizes up in anxious cramps when her gaze turns murderous. The faҫade of cool collectedness that I manage to wear should win me an Oscar. Several, at that.

The blonde blinks slowly so I know I'm pissing her off. She sets her jaw for a moment before explaining slowly and in exhaustive detail, "You are a _guard_ \- your skill set is what I am after. It is also known that you have, once, brought Tevinter slaves into Kirkwall. You protected them. Now I want you to protect _me_. Need I go on?"

“Yes, actually. Are you on the run?”

“In a sense.” Is her guarded response.

I sigh. "Pardon me for not jumping at this opportunity, but Hasmal is a trek and I typically don’t take business that far outside of Kirkwall.”

“You went to Ferelden once.” Celeste presses.

My breath catches. Eyes narrow suspiciously. “For personal business. How did you even know that?”

“Everyone in the underworld knew you left for Ferelden some time ago. The nature of your trip was unknown, however.” Her response is so blasé that I immediately gloss over it.

“Uh-huh. How much are you paying?”

“Fifty sovereigns.”

I almost laugh. It’s highly doubtful that she was mean-mugging me earlier because she wanted to hire me. Most potential employers ooze charm in the hopes that I’ll give a discount like guard detail is something that should involve a lot of bartering. But if this whole mess of a “job opportunity” will open a door for me to figure out what little Miss Celeste Frain’s angle is (because it certainly isn’t to polish up my résumé), then what could it hurt? It’s not like I can’t defend myself. It’s not like I haven’t _killed_ to defend myself. Nobody would even guess murder was on my brain when I drawl, “Oh, yeah. Sure. Fine. I’ll take you to Hasmal, _boss_.”

"Good." The lithe blonde smiles warmly. It’s one of those strained smiles that doesn’t quite reach the eyes- the kind that hasn’t been practiced very often. "I will be in touch." With that, she swoops out of the house with her pitch black cloak trailing after her like a shadow.

And the air seems to leave the room with her. I swallow hard. There’s this strange split that I’m feeling- an uneven split between pragmatism and paranoia. If this job is legit and Frain is “on the run” for Hasmal, then at least I’ll personally see to getting her out of Kirkwall and I’ll have one less person breaking into my house. However, if this isn’t legit and she’s somehow out to get me, I have no idea how far south things will go. An hour of me brooding at the table passes before the door slowly creaks open. When I look up I spy two doleful brown eyes peering at me from a crack in the door before the mousy man who owns them finally enters. It feels like I haven’t seen him in an age. I quirk a brow. “Here to throw more foreign literature at me? Tell me now so I can limber up.”

"I'm sorry." Julian blurts, cheeks turning red in the warm light of the fireplace. He shuffles forward, body almost to the side like an awkward crab. "I didn't mean- When I came back, I thought you’d finally got fed up with me and left for good. But your mage told me you went on a job and I-” When he realizes that he’s rambling, the Palm swallows so hard that I think he actually swallows the rest of his tangent. “Shit, kid, I'm sorry. It was just...” Julian finally, tentatively sits across from me at the table, “for the longest time it's just been me and now you come along and shake everythin' up, make me feel, well, like I don't matter so much. I was feelin' jealous and- it was stupid."

I feel myself grow less and less tense as I watch the fidgety mess of a man. His boney shoulders are tensed up- so tense that they’re almost right up at his ears. The image of an abused, homeless dog comes to mind and I sigh in defeat. It’s not like I was still even mad at him for chucking a book at me what feels like years ago, anyway. And it’s not fair of me to be cruel to him just because my feathers are ruffled over the Frain shitshow. "So," I glance at Julian, "decades, huh?"

“Did I say that?” He grimaces, eyes go shifty, he won't look my way. His anxiety, which first disarmed me, is almost contagious now. Finally, he looks up at me and blushes before admitting, "Well, not really decades. Just the one. Almost two. It was about, well, maybe only twelve years.” Crooked nails pick at a splinter in the table. The urge to tell him to calm the hell down is almost too much to bear. Thankfully he continues, “I was alone that whole time- all those years. So, the years all sorta blended in together. Ya know? I got to thinkin' that it was _much_ longer. _Decades_. Which is why I sorta instinctively said it. I wasn't thinkin'."

_Is it kumbaya time already? It feels like it might be. Damn._

As cruel as it sounds, I’m finding it kinda difficult to feel a smidgen of empathy despite coming into this world under similar circumstances as Julian. I blame my coldness on fatigue and frustration. Heck I just got off of a job, had a bizarre Fade encounter, and then dealt with Frain’s friendly break-in. Still, I find myself cooing, "It's okay. I get it. When I was... with Carrow,” my tenderness abates as I struggle to get that out and then internally berate myself for still getting hung up on the past, “the passage of time was hard to keep up with. I wrote on the walls of my cell. I thought that was just some dramatic thing in films. But it was necessary."

"Were you by yourself?" He asks innocently enough.

A derisive snort leaves me and I throw in a casual half-shrug to immediately diffuse it. "I might as well have been. Ki- Steven was nothing more than a warm body- didn't talk, didn't do anything. But his presence was a comfort, a luxury. I didn't take it- _him_ for granted when I was in there. But... I don't know. That didn't make us best friends."

"Why not? Why couldn't it?"

Julian’s earnestness has me pulling a weird face. I think it might be disgust or confusion. Definitely confusion, because I don’t know what would even make him ask a question like that. "For me, seeing him takes me back to all the bad times. I missed him like hell when he first left Kirkwall, but when I'd remember him all these other memories, memories I didn't want, would come along for the ride."

"Gotcha.” Julian replies curtly, looking a bit abashed for pestering. “If ya don't mind me askin', what did Dermot do to you?" Or not abashed at all, I guess.

"He liked to play games." It’s a robotic response- practiced and without feeling. Any sense of discomfort or irritation dissolves, leaving me with cool, unfeeling nothingness. And _then_ I feel it. That simmering, low-grade panic that leaves my ears and lips buzzing and turns my hands to ice. It creeps up on me and takes away what little patience I had left. I almost scoff when Julian doesn’t catch on to my discomfort as well as he did not ten seconds ago. Then I realize that I’ve just got so good at hiding my fear. Eyes close. I take a breath and remember where I am. “That’s all.”

"Meaning?"

"He liked to see how far I'd go to try and escape. And I didn't disappoint. He always loved a good show and I'm one hell of an actress." I sneer, mouth twisting into an ugly smirk.

The Palm looks away. "Look, I'm sorry for askin'-"

"Don't be.” I snap, completely contradicting myself with tone alone and because I feel like he’s not really sorry for asking. Otherwise, why would he ask at all when we’ve already broached this uncomfortable subject once before? “I would've asked, too. God knows I'm vague enough to elicit some curiosity. People think I'm trying to be mysterious but really I'm just trying to forget everything."

"Why not grow from it? Own your past." Julian plants his elbows on the table, leans forward as if to try and show me how sincere he is through body language.

_He’s not trying to piss you off._

And I know that. I do. At least, I tell myself that I do. "That's not a past I think anyone should own. Some things are better left forgotten."

"Why?"

_Oh my God._

Am I just that tired? It’s like when you have a really, really bad day and someone just insists on knowing every detail even though it’s obvious that you’re not in the mood. Everyone seems dead set on making my damn eye twitch today. "Because,” I grind out, “it made me bitter and fearful. I lived in terror for months. Every little noise was that monster come to get me. Every mage was his ally- a spy sent to snoop and report back to him. And Kiriyama and Isabela, everyone I had grown to _depend_ on, left- had their own lives to live, their own shit to deal with. It wasn't until I pushed his memory away that I started to live again."

"Sounds like you resent Steven and your friend." Julian observes soberly, looking at me with these damn, pitying eyes.

"I-" Do I? Did I? "We're not here to talk about my issues, Jules. Why'd you flip out on me over that book?" And there it is. Good ol’ Wilhelmina shoving past transgressions in someone’s face when convenient. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious to know why someone so seemingly easy-going had a full-on meltdown over me having a demon’s how-to guide. Sure, I tried not to think about it when I was on the job and sure I already let Julian off the hook for throwing the book at me. But that doesn’t mean my insatiable curiosity was satisfied. I was merely being considerate. And now that Julian is poking and prodding, trying to pry the cap off of my sealed pains, well… I’m feeling just a little bit less considerate, to be quite honest.

It’s Julian’s turn in the hot seat and he’s already sweating. "Because you don't appreciate it. You can't. You've been here a handful of years and just now started acceptin' yourself as Summoned and-?" He takes a breath, getting worked up again, and lowers his voice. "He talked to me when He first brought me here. He was kind and accepting even after all I'd done in the life I left behind. He helped me when my summoners hurt me- gave me the strength to fight back. And then, when I got out from that hellhole, He just... _left_. And He didn't talk to me again until He brought you and Steven here."

“I’ve asked time and time again: Can we stop with the pronoun game?” When Julian gives me a flat look in response, I huff. "The ‘dragon’ told you Steven and I were here?"

"Not explicitly. I just had a dream... about my old life. And I woke up cryin'."

"What was your life like?" I didn’t think I’d ever ask Julian that question, simply because it seemed taboo. Julian has always seemed like someone who exists purely in the here-and-now: Someone with no history and maybe not even a future- someone so unknowable that the second he’s out of sight you think he ceases to exist. But that doe-eyed look he gives me the second I ask that question has me thinking otherwise. Maybe he just gave off those “no past” vibes because he prefers it that way. And if it’s for the sake of avoiding the pain of a lost life, I can’t say that I blame him. However, that’s not going to keep me from probing. Shit, if he could be so lackadaisical about asking me how I was tortured, I can damn well ask about his past. No matter how painful it is for him.

_Okay, don’t be too much of an asshole. You know he has bad social filters._

Julian clears his throat and laughs. "Mom and dad, snot-nosed kid brother, wife, a kid of my own. The works. Ya know?"

An eyebrow pops up reflexively. "If it was _the works_ , then why did you make it sound like it was awful before?" At his nonplussed expression, I go on, “You said Not was accepting even after ‘all that you’d done in the life you left behind.’ Pardon me for saying, but that doesn’t exactly sound like a dream.”

"Because nothin' stays good for long.” Dark eyes level me with a knowing look. “Learn that now and you'll save yourself a world of hurt later."

"What happened?" I ask slowly, warily.

"I killed myself."

"That..." That doesn't explain what happened. That doesn't tell me what went wrong to lead to suicide but he knows by just throwing that out there I can't rightly ask and pursue the conversation. Because he knows I at least _try_ to be considerate. So, I’m left to bitterly relent for the sake of civility. And what right do I have to pursue that line of questioning? It’s almost laughable how he can ask me so brazenly about my torture fun-times with Carrow without batting an eye and I’m backpedaling the moment “suicide” falls from his lips. "I'm sorry." I barely grind it out from between two sympathetically downturned lips.

"You weren't the reason, doll." Julian responds, expression stiff and posture even stiffer.

“I know that?” It comes out more like a question because I’m genuinely confused as to how he pulled that response out of thin air. Sure, when I first got here I was angry. I was a wreck. But just like I wouldn’t play the blame game and unfairly lay the blame for my murder on Julian or anyone else who wasn’t there and didn’t play a role in it, I would _assume_ he wouldn’t blame me for his suicide. But I guess he’s just uncomfortable. Hell, who am I to judge someone about their word vomit?

"Anyway,” Julian continues much to my surprise, “the goin' got tough and I- I fucked up things for a lot of people. Lookin' back, there were other options but… Well, I made my choice. No goin’ back on that one."

"Julian." I sigh, running my fingers through my hair and pulling my cowl back in the process. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know I was prying but, I’ll admit, I was mostly doing it out of spite because you can be a bit insensitive.”

He’s staring at his hands. They’re balled up on the table. His usually smiling mouth trembles and I can’t tell if he’s laughing or crying. "I didn't think it would hurt this much."

Brow furrowed, I ask, "What would?"

"You do it a lot, huh?” Dark eyes flicker up toward me, swirling with pain and some self-deprecating humor. “Block out the bad? So you can keep goin' on? It's crazy that you've- that one thing can impact someone for the rest of their life like that."

"What? I mean," I shake my head and laugh awkwardly, “I guess? But I suppose I wouldn’t know if I’ve actually blocked something out, would I? That would defeat the purpose.”

“True.” The Palm unclenches his right hand to toy with the splinter again. Little crescents decorate his palm. Strands of dirty black hair fall in his face but he doesn’t bother to brush them away. "At first I thought maybe you'd remember, ya know? That it'd just take some time and you'd remember. Then I thought, well, _I've_ changed a lot. Don't even look like the same person anymore. And the last time you saw me-"

_Wait. What?_

I suck my teeth, irritated that _this_ is what he’s going on about. Irritated that I actually never even thought to bring this up to him. "Hold on. Julian, I do remember you."

All of the color drains from his face and in an instant he’s sweating bullets like he just ran a marathon. That self-deprecating humor is replaced with raw fear. "You... You do?" He’s breathless, chest still but hands shaking.

I side-eye his strange reaction. " _Yeah_. You were in my dream the first time I saw the dragon." With a shake of my head I scoff, “I just never thought to bring it up for some reason. It’s not that I forgot, I just… well, it was an eventful day, to say the least, and our interaction in my dre- in the _Fade_ got swept under the rug. Sorry about that. I didn’t think that would upset you so much.”

It’s eerily quiet for a long, long time as Julian stares at me for a century. He’s expressionless. I’ve seen more emotion in the eyes of my dearly departed Beta fish. Finally that creepy mask cracks and the Palm gives me the saddest grin I’ve ever seen. "Shit, kid. Don't go gettin' my hopes up like that. Like a dagger in the damn heart."

Okay, are we having different conversations right now? I go through a laundry list of potential responses, but all I can get out is: "Sorry?"

Julian waves me off, his grin more forceful now. "It's not important. If it was, this conversation would've taken a different turn. Listen, goin’ back to the previous subject, I'll help ya with the book. I know you asked before I flipped and I was a rude little bitch but I’m down. Just leave Andy outta it."

"Okay.” I reply shortly, happy for a different conversation- a conversation that I can actually understand. But my response totally isn’t a “yes” because Anders has been with me on this wild ride for a while now and he’s been _helpful_. Ditching him now would be like trading lab partners in the middle of the semester because you think another classmate _might_ be smarter than the one you’re working with. Besides, I don’t want to do anything to earn the mage’s ire and I’ve actually grown to like the little busybody. I’ve known that Julian has been sour about me employing Anders’ help for a while now and it would be foolish of me to just ignore his request, so I have to ask, “Why?"

"Mage in Kirkwall hangin' around what was once touted to be a 'magical weapon'? Girl, the story had a tragic endin’ written from the start.” Julian pushes himself off of his chair like he’s being weighed down. Even his expression looks troubled and strained. “And I like him. He's familiar and... sad.” Boney shoulders bob in a shrug before Julian throws himself down on his bed and says into the mattress, “I can relate. Don't want him fuckin' up like I did, throwin' in with all the wrong people, gettin' himself so low that he gets _there_. Ya know?"

The idea of Anders hurting or killing himself makes me feel ill. “I got you. But it sounds like you’re speaking from experience when it comes to hanging around with mages. Did you have a few mage friends I should know about?” My tone is teasing and lighthearted. I’m just trying to make conversation and wind down for the day so that this conversation doesn’t end on such a bad note. I don’t actually expect the guy to respond, though. Unfortunately for me, he does, and I don’t know why I thought bringing up mage friends would somehow end this shit on a high note.

Even lying down like a sack of bones, tension coils up in Julian’s body. “Tellin’ outsiders what you are never ends well for anyone, darlin’. Leave it at that.”

_What..._

Stomach feeling like it’s made of lead, I stare at Julian’s back before slowly putting Slicer away and kicking off my boots. Now I can understand his frustration with me. All those ugly little looks he’d throw my way when I’d stay behind with Anders, all those catty remarks. I dress for bed without even realizing it; going through the motions without a thought. Finally I say, "I know. But Anders’ll be all right. He's unbreakable." I’m trying to come off indifferent as I settle down into bed. I’m trying to make myself feel better.

That head of shaggy dark hair turns and I catch a glimpse of a tired dark eye. "Nobody is, kid. You're livin’ in a fairytale. Would've thought bein’ tortured for months would chase that outta ya."

That slaps me out of my misery long enough to be offended. "Wow. Thanks, jerk."

"Shit, sorry! It's just that you're an idealist and that's kinda funny, all things considered." He grabs his pillow and throws it over his head, voice now more muffled than ever. “Anyway, I oughta hit the hay. You, too. It’s back to the old grind tomorrow morning for ya.”

“Night.” I murmur, turning my eyes to the ceiling. The fire burns low now and will die out soon without anyone tending to it. But the night is humid, making the warmth linger to the point that it’s almost stifling.

Sleep eludes me as I toss and turn, mind filled with a million “could haves” and “should haves” with no solutions. It’s almost laughable how long it took me to build up the courage to finally tell Isabela, Hawke, Anders, and even Varric just a little bit about my origins- about just how I came into this bizarre world. It took me so, so long to do the _wrong_ thing. I couldn’t strike the balance between being a hermit like Julian and telling my allies just enough about me to not be a lying shrew and _not_ potentially put them in danger.

My conscience keeps me awake, reprimands me about never considering just how much shit I could’ve caused Anders and everyone else- could _still_ cause them- because I never bothered to look beyond my own need for information and validation. Yes, Anders offered his help and Isabela and Hawke offered their friendship. But I could’ve held my tongue. I could’ve respectfully declined Anders and told him that I would be endangering him if he pushed the subject- could’ve cited Carrow and the beach mage to prove my point.

And in that line of thought, I could’ve stopped harping on the mage from the Wounded Coast long enough for Julian to teach me a thing or two. But I thought Anders was a safe bet. As safe as it can be to let someone know my dark little secret, that is. It’s a tangled web that I’m in and I weaved it all on my own. Agonizing over all of the choices I’ve made and their unknown repercussions. Beating myself up for dragging Anders and everyone else down with me without a second thought just because it made me “feel good” to let someone know about me.

Fear grips me when I think about how someone like that Wounded Coast psycho might go after Anders because he has a giant target on his back that I single-handedly painted by giving him access to that stupid book and my brother’s notes. Then I feel it: An almost eerie calm that washes over me, slows my heartbeat, makes my eyelids heavy. Then I _hear_ it: A voice that’s deep and breathy and everywhere. At first I think someone broke into the house again. My heart leaps and thuds painfully against my ribs, feels like it might stop altogether when I realize that no one is in the house aside from me and a sleeping Julian and that I’m very much awake and _not_ dreaming.

“ _He’s loyal in his own way. And strong. So very strong.”_

 Julian mumbles groggily into the crook of his drool-soaked arm, “Please… she can’t hear you and I’m _tired_.”

I stare at the ceiling until day breaks.


	44. Mourning Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I’d update like… three months ago. Here’s a haphazardly paced chapter to sort of make up for it? Sorry for the delay, y'all, and for giving y'all something that I think is honestly subpar. I got caught up in real life stuff and other writings. Hopefully the next update doesn't have an eight-month gap. If it starts getting there... feel free to rattle my cage to check and see if this story still has a pulse.
> 
> If y'all need to contact me for any reason and if you're cool with tumblr, you can find me at [this garbo blog](http://wrathwritesthings.tumblr.com) which is a cesspool of my really bad ffxv writings... BUT it's the best way to contact me if you need/want to. Hope y'all have a good one!

**35\. Mourning Air**

"You’ve been behaving a bit strangely. Are you feeling unwell?"

I glance over at the man sitting at the table, the man whom I haven’t been able to look in the eye for days now. Anders has been drinking a single cup of tea for about half an hour, drawing out the activity by staring at me and bobbing his left knee up and down in turn. He looks how I've felt over the past week: Like a tightly-wound mess, a second away from snapping. Apparently my anxiety is a contagious thing, like some sort of virulent virus. Wonder if it grows stronger the longer I remain in this neurotic state of mine? That would be pretty inconvenient, wouldn't it? To be anxious and surrounded by anxious people.

Maybe that's why it seems like good ol' Andy almost doesn't want me around? Nah. It's most likely because I've been politely restrained all these days since the shit hit the fan in the most bizarre way possible. He knows something happened in my little corner of the world. And I know that he knows that something happened and yet Mum's the word. It's been _day_ _s_ since I last saw Celeste and heard her suspicious little proposition concerning suspicious little Hasmal. And then... that voice. The voice that seemed to shake the entire world and yet only Julian and I were affected. What even was that?

_You know what it was._

No, I don’t. Or I do, but I’d rather not. Rather _not_ _know_ , I mean. Anyway, since then, I've been keeping busy. And by "keeping busy," I mean coming across perhaps a bit too brusque at Anders’ clinic. The place is no longer in danger of thieves but people who are actually ill might think twice about getting treated at the clinic thanks to my foul mood and equally foul mouth. Quite a fortuitous moment for it all to explode in my face, really. This past week, Hawke has had his nose to the grindstone, too. Dumar is a man who requires quite a lot of attention. As do _I_. So, it really does work out that I have a private meltdown whilst Hawke plays lackey.

_Business as usual?_

I’m trying. Believe me, I’m _trying_. And when Hawke sent Varric as an envoy to say he'd be busy, I really thought it would be my chance to collect myself. But between eerie dreams, illusive blondes, and dream dragons, it’s proving to be next to impossible. Part of me wonders if things with the dragon will escalate like they did with Carrow. God only knows how unsettling it would be to constantly see a _humongous dragon_ roaming about that’s invisible to everyone else. Sometimes I wonder if all of this- this life, this world, _everything_ \- is the result of me accidentally dropping acid or some shit. Like this might be one of those dreams that you have that feels like it lasts forever...

And I haven’t told a damn soul about it. I’ve avoided sleep because I fear “Mike” will be there to greet me and interrogate me. I’ve avoided Julian just in case the demon decides it wants to talk again and then I’ll be left scrambling to appear oblivious to its overpowering voice- like pretending to be deaf when someone starts yelling into a megaphone right at your ear. Even as I wait anxiously for the demon to speak to me again, I pretend that nothing has changed. I try to think about what I did to make this happen. I don’t recall saying, “Yeah, go on and try to possess me. It’s cool.” I don’t recall asking for it to speak to me. It _just happened_.

Perhaps that’s what jars me the most: I didn’t have to do anything for things to progress. Events are unfolding, toppling out of my hands like I have no control over them because I _don’t_ have control over them and I _never_ did. Kiriyama had his “singing blood” from the get-go and Julian had the demon in his ear since I met him and I…? I pretended that I was still the same person that I was before I was murdered. I took things at my own sluggish pace: Read my brother’s notes at my leisure, studied up on my origins with Anders when it suited me, and complained that things were going so slow even though it was going right at the pace that I set it at.

“Hawke has been looking for you,” Anders adds, trying to tempt me into conversation by dangling Hawke’s name in front of my face. He succeeds in ripping me out of my grim thoughts, but his accusatory statement has me frowning. Honestly? I haven't heard a peep from Hawke since Varric found his way on my doorstep with kind words and a reassuring smile. The mage most likely didn't want me to tag along on his "jobs" because I made it no secret that I don't approve of his rather one-sided dealings with the Viscount. My only consolation is that, based on the few times I've found myself in that particular corner of Kirkwall, Aveline has been at Hawke's side like I requested.

I side-eye Anders as the lithe mage straightens his slumped posture under my suddenly critical gaze, trying to appear alert after a long workday. “I’ve been busy and he knows how to find me.”

_Besides, I'm pretty sure it's_ him _doing the avoiding this time around._

“Is this what you normally do?” Anders sounds almost acerbic.

“Excuse me?” I scoff.

The blond mage’s face is politely reserved. Brown eyes are downcast and non-confrontational even as he snipes, “Give a man hope and then avoid him forever after?” A pale index finger traces the rim of his chipped teacup, a gift that I bought him which Julian immediately broke. It’s part of a pretty set that was a totally impulsive and unnecessary buy, as Anders repeatedly told me even as he gladly took it and uses it any chance he gets. It makes him look even more pretentious as he condescends to me. Honestly, he'd probably be more receptive and understanding of my lapse back into solitude if I'd at least let _him_ in.

_Oh, Anders. Ever my conscience. The annoying angel on my shoulder._

Cupping my chin in my hand, I sigh tiredly, “Okay, what are you getting at, Anders?”

“You’re avoiding Hawke, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” When those caramel-colored eyes flash, daring me to continue to lie to his face, I sigh again but it's far more dramatic this time around. "Want me to be honest with you? Oh, who am I kidding? _Of course_ you do. The last time I saw Hawke, I got on his case about all of his," hand waves dismissively in the air, " _Viscount business_ and he wasn't exactly tripping over himself to thank me for my unsolicited advice. So, it's not a matter of _me_ avoiding _Hawke_ , it's _Hawke_ who is avoiding _me_." 

Okay, yes, that’s a partial lie. I've _savored_ Hawke's busy schedule. I have a plate loaded with utter bullshit and can’t find the patience or make the proper headspace to handle interpersonal relationships on top of it all. All I can think about is that voice, “Mike” and his “advice,” and Frain. All things that are totally out of my control. All things that I don’t properly understand. All things that happened like a flash in the pan- something startling and abrupt that hasn’t even had a proper conclusion. Because I haven’t heard that damn voice again, I haven’t heard from “Mike,” and I haven’t heard a peep from Frain.

If I didn’t know any better, I would say all three of those things were _definitely_ part of a long fever-dream like I’ve so often suspected because of just how outlandish and ephemeral each experience was. They were all hallucinations and I’m slowly dying from some brain-eating amoeba or parasite or something equally unfortunate and unlikely. But it would certainly explain all of this nonsense, wouldn’t it? How weird would that be? That everything that’s happened to me thus far is just a figment of my imagination? Okay, is it weird to have had similar thoughts so often?

_Maybe…?_

Call it wishful thinking. And as long as I’m asking myself rhetorical questions: Am I a fool for thinking Hawke wouldn’t take my sudden absence personally? And is he a fool for thinking I wouldn't, either? I mean, I _haven't_. Sure, I understand the importance of a job and sustaining a family, but we both sort of botched it, didn't we? We had sex, argued, sorta made up, then went on to load ourselves down with work so that we haven't seen each other going on eight days. Before we entered into a relationship we’d sometimes have long stretches of time between our meetings, so that's "normal." Once I didn’t see his head of scruffy dark hair for a whole _month_.

This has just been a _week_. A hellish week, to be sure, but a week all the same. But Anders’ meddling tells me that Hawke has at least shown some concern to others or… something. Which bothers me in a really unsettling way. Because I've been working under the assumption that this "time out" has been mutually beneficial and mutually agreed upon. The blond dwarf on my doorstep seemed to say as much. So, did something change? At what point did "we're both busy" turn into "Mina's avoiding Hawke"? Unfortunately, my desire to answer that question isn't strong enough to make me cancel my job for tonight and finally answer one of Leandra’s dinner invitations.

It’s also not enough to make me feel guilty about not spending time with my other friends. Not that Merrill would welcome me. She’s so absorbed in her own business that she can hardly maintain polite conversation before becoming irritable. Varric and Isabela are also busy people, mostly because Varric is stuck to Hawke's side like glue. It’s a wonder I was ever able to form friendships with these people; we’re all so busy living our hectic, dangerous lives. And the only way I’m able to spend time with Anders is by _working for him_. It’s pretty sad that I had to turn one of my friends into my boss to actually see him on a regular basis.

Fingers drum against the uneven wooden table, eyes dart around the dusty old clinic. A cup of ice-cold tea sits in front of me. The amber liquid is unappealing, especially when I notice tiny particles, likely dust, floating on the surface. Elbows dig into the table, sending ripples through the cold, dusty, unappealing tea. Such a mundane sight. Such a mundane activity, tea time, considering everything that’s happened and everything I’m pretending didn’t happen. It almost makes me laugh. I hear a demon in my head and then I make time for tea with my friend turned boss.

“-but I _did_ say I wouldn’t insert myself into your intimate life.”

I barely catch the end of what was probably well-intentioned and slightly sanctimonious advice from Anders. At the risk of sounding rude, I respond hastily, “Thanks.”

Either the healer doesn’t notice how I half-thinkingly blurt that platitude or he honestly doesn’t give a damn at this point. Probably the latter. “I don’t want to make you late for work,” Anders states and folds his arms, well-acquainted with my work schedule of guarding the clinic during the day and then trading off with Julian at night so I can go skulk around Kirkwall’s sewers and other lovely locales with untrustworthy folk.

“Oh, yeah. Well, if you happen to cross paths with Hawke soon, would you mind telling him that I’ll be available after tonight’s job? I’ve been working non-stop for a while now so I’m taking time off.” I figure it’s the least I can do: Free up some time to see the Hawkes after days of declining Leandra’s dinner invitations. Even if I'm dead on my feet, it's probably best for me to find out why Hawke is asking after me like we both haven't been busy.

A blond eyebrow quirks. “Do you mind if I ask why you’ve been smuggling so often? Not that I think Kirkwall is in short supply of things that need to be smuggled.”

“I’m building up to a huge favor,” I admit with a casual half-shrug. It’s far too casual a gesture for talk about illicit activities, I’m sure. This is confirmed by how Anders’ honey-brown eyes turn bored and unimpressed, lips downturned and head cocked slightly as if he’s looking at an unruly child and not a grown-ass woman who has been smuggling for as long as he’s put stakes down in this shitty city.

“Very sneaky,” comments Anders.

“More like _smart_ ,” I correct before pushing myself off of my chair and reluctantly heading for the door. “See you around, Andy.”

“Be safe,” the healer calls after me, “and please bring the book the next time you come around.”

He’s been harping on that for a while now and I feel like an asshole for hassling him to do this research with me and then getting all tight-fisted with the leather-bound book. I clam up each time he brings it up, smiling and changing the subject in the most obvious way possible. Those brown eyes tell me that he knows something happened. Or maybe I’m just paranoid? Both? Yeah, “both” sounds like the more likely option. I’ve been in a constant state of agitation since I heard that damn voice- waiting on the edge of my seat for the next time it comes.

I fear that it’ll happen at a really inconvenient time. I imagine that I’ll be talking to someone or in the middle of some life-or-death situation and then I’ll have the dream dragon whispering in my ear and I’ll falter, give myself away, or end up dead… or all three in rapid succession. That’s how it’ll happen. Just watch. It’s my particular brand of shitty luck that will be my undoing just like it was in my previous life… Okay, yeah. I’m paranoid as hell.

There’s that familiar Darktown musk of body odor, mold, and booze-and-vomit-cocktail as I meander out of the clinic and find my way to the rendezvous point. The homeless beg for coin in the Lowtown streets and I give what I can without making eye contact. Where once Des and Quick’s jobs were few and far between, now they’ve become back-to-back occurrences in this one week. I’ll finish one job just to find myself steeped in another one- not that I’m complaining about earning coin. It just makes me wonder who they got into bed with to have a steady stream of work coming in so suddenly.

This one is just a quick pick-up and delivery within Kirkwall- no trips beyond the city limits. This will involve nothing more than a bunch of waiting around and then limited contact with, well, contacts. When I got the letter stuffed under my door this morning, I figured I wouldn’t be seeing Quick and Des doing this grunt work. I figured they would post Douglas for this job or maybe some other smuggler from their little circle. However, I wasn’t expecting to see _Celeste Frain_. Especially not after Quick gave her the third degree and swore he’d never hire her again. Especially not after she _dropped off of the face of the goddamn planet_.

She’s a sleek silhouette in the alleyway, decked out in black so that she blends seamlessly into the shadows. Salt is in the air, black water sloshing at the docks and rocking ships to and fro in the distance. Blonde hair catches the light from a nearby torch, looking like a flicker of flames in the darkness. A flash of green and I know that she’s looking at me. It’s when she turns her head slightly that I realize how haggard she looks and it isn't because of poor lighting. Those green eyes are sunken and her cheeks are gaunt. The blonde looks as though she hasn’t slept a wink in days. Maybe she really is on the run? Stranger things have happened.

Pasting on a pleasant smile I ask, “Didn’t sweet Amos ban you from future jobs? Or was that all talk?”

Pink lips barely move. “I was told that I could work informal jobs- shipping, imports, and such. Once Amos is satisfied with my work he said he would consider hiring me for jobs that involve actually working with his contacts.”

“Hm.”

Silence settles between the two of us as we wait for the drop. All the while, I keep my eyes on her and I'm positive she can feel how my stare burns her. She’s being awfully damn casual for someone who broke into my house, threatened me, and then hired me in a very condescending manner. Is it wrong for me to be so damn annoyed that she’s acting as though _none of that_ even happened? Because what the hell? Just as I’m about to air out all of my grievances, Frain breathes, “I ran into a spot of trouble. The job proposal is still on the table, however it will be delayed indefinitely.”

Any snarky remark I might have had ready on my tongue gets lodged back into my throat. Did she honestly just say that? She trespasses (okay, I know I don’t own the property _but still_ ), basically orders me to take her to Hasmal and talks like she’s the one doing me a favor, and now… _this_? After falling off of the face of the planet and coming back looking like a damn zombie, she’s so sure that I’m still gonna do this job? I may be desperate but I’m not _that_ desperate… But I am curious. Oh, am I curious. And I have to damn that curiosity of mine.

Squinting, I snort disdainfully, “So, you expect me to wait around forever for a job that might not even happ-”

“Solis. Frain.”

The two of us snap to attention as Des saunters into our cozy little alleyway, greeting us like we’re part of an elite team (or on her kid's soccer team) with Quick on her heels. The half-elf gives us lowly smugglers an irritated, somewhat superior look as if he isn’t slumming it with the rest of us. Huh. So, I was wrong on both fronts. No Bray _and_ Des and Quick have deigned to stick around for a simple delivery. Suppose it makes sense… this way they can stake a claim to extra coin and short us over any slip-ups. Well, short _Frain_. I turn into a right asshole when coin is involved.

“Having a good night, Solis?” Des queries politely, obviously disquieted by the… quiet.

With a charming and obviously fake smile, eyes boring into the back of Frain’s head as she turns her face away, I simper, “Oh, it’s been _lovely_.”

Honestly, I hate that I know that I’m going to accept Frain’s job the moment she tells me it’s back on track, despite all my bitching and moaning about her assuming that I’d be waiting on her as if she's the most important woman in the world and I don't have a life of my own with many more job opportunities. It’s this sneaking suspicion, this nagging little feeling that I get when I’m around her that makes me want to see her out of this city. Those glaring and suspicious green eyes, that porcelain mask of a face. She’s a serpent in human skin, I can tell. And I don’t like that she has me in her sights.

That tense atmosphere still remains, a palpable thing like humidity, and the dwarf and half-elf exchange mildly uncomfortable looks, unaware of the bizarre business exchange that they walked in on. And they’ll remain in the dark. Like hell will I let Quick catch wind that I’m sniffing at even _more_ alternate avenues for work and I highly doubt Frain would appreciate the slimeball knowing that she (supposedly) has enough coin to hire me for said work. Thus, the four of us remain in stuffy silence until our guy covertly drops off the goods near a legit shipment.

“Showtime,” Quick sneers, brown eyes glinting in the darkness.

* * *

Sharpening a dagger, I lean casually in my seat as my companions talk about our job well done. They're all over each other as usual, gushing about their wealth and how the next job will be smooth sailing like this one. It makes me wonder if they were the walking dead through the duration of the job. Because it could _hardly_ be called a job. Like I said, grunt work. Just the picking up of some illicit material, the transfer of said illicit material to some nondescript location, and then a quick jaunt home. Nothing to write home about. Nothing to pat oneself on the shoulder over.

_Jesus. I sound old and bitter._

“But it would’ve been so easy to slit that fucker’s throat and take the shipment _and_ the money,” Quick sighs despondently, like his Fantasy Football team fell through. Such a blasé tone used to speak about murder.

It's funny that I've spent so much time popping in on jobs with Amos Quickley and he still manages to shock _me_ \- of all people. I've decapitated people, slit throats, impaled others with Slicer, resorted to extortion and blackmail on a few occasions, and wreaked havoc on the minds of unsuspecting individuals. And yet a man who follows the exact same handbook as myself (minus the mind-bendy thing), makes me feel out of my element. I guess it's because he acts like a damn psychopath. I guess running with Hawke's crew for so long left me with higher standards for others, ethics-wise.

While I've spent many a day moaning about my lack of morals and how I'll most likely go to hell if hell exists and blah, blah, blah... I was so blind to the fact that people like Quickley exist. Compared to him, I'm a damn saint! I nearly got thrown off of this job because I had the gall to pull Quickley off of an urchin who "looked at him wrong" outside of the tavern. The bastard kicked the poor kid's teeth in while Des rolled her eyes and Frain just watched on like a robot. I... really, really had to reel it in after I punched Quick in the face. My guilt had me emptying my purse into the urchin's blood-splattered lap. Coin that could’ve bought a fat stack of clean linens for the clinic. 

_Damn._

With a grimace, I stop sharpening the blade and work on dulling it all over again by defacing the table our little group is sitting at. I was doing so well, too. Not about sharpening the dagger, but about tucking away all of my concerns about the people I care about and what I'm doing to help them. The whole reason I even dove back into a life of crime was to build up to a favor, which I think I've adequately done considering the deluge of work I've been drowning in. But as I've been working tirelessly, I've been putting off the people I'm working _for_. The people I'm working to try and help or maybe even save one day.

The silence on Hawke’s end, up until tonight, was something that I used to defend everything that I've done (or haven't done) this week. It was a convenient shield. With it, I deflected my responsibilities. So, I said I wanted to work on being truthful concerning my Summoned status? _Logically_ that meant telling literally no one about this latest development of hearing the voice. _Logically_ that meant letting it fester and sometimes pretending it didn't even happen. Sure, Julian warned me that revealing Summoned info to others would put them in danger, but _he_ was still an option. My alleged tutor. Yet I've remained quiet. Because I say I've been busy _like Hawke_.

And now that shield is gone because Hawke has expressed worry. My inaction concerning the dream dragon and my nonexistent progress with "Mike's" advice on compulsion is exposed, laid bare. A week of silence. A week of falling back on old, bad habits and then wondering why nothing has changed. A week of-

“Drink up, Solis!” Des urges, sliding me another tankard which I accept with a strained smile, ripped from my brooding and highly dramatic inner-monologue. I must've been monologuing too loudly for her, because the tankard is practically forced into my hand.

God, I was hoping to be _done_ with this socializing nonsense an hour ago so I could drop in on the Hawkes... namely Garrett. My nasty habit of romanticizing situations got me into this mess. I thought being a smuggler would be a good distraction. It's been a distraction, sure, but certainly not a good one. This past week, I'd say I've earned a pretty penny but I’ve also isolated myself. Tonight… I feel like tonight is my last stint as a smuggler. I’ve worked enough jobs and saved Quick and Des' skins enough times to have them drowning in my debt, so I'm calling it quits. Besides, I can't see myself laying my life on the line for them anymore. Not like I do for my friends. 

"That was a successful job, eh, Frain?" I grin, suddenly feeling the urge to talk and get away from my thoughts.

Clear green eyes fixate on me. "It was. However," her cold eyes slowly turn on Des and Quick, "I was under the impression that it would just be us."

The two aren't listening and probably wouldn't give a damn anyway if they heard the Orlesian's complaint, so I give her a pointed look. "Hm. So I guess you checked again to see if I’d be the one on the job? How do you manage to get Quick and Des to tell you that information?"

" _That_ is a secret."

I don't miss the edge in her tone and wonder what her angle is. How does she have so much clout with these smugglers? Who introduced her to them? Do they know that she’s supposedly loaded? Well… _that_ would explain her paying to “audition.” She likely paid for the knowledge that I’d be the guard on duty. The power of money. With that settled, I easily return us to our cold, awkward silence. The silver lining is that Des and Quick are talking enough for the entire tavern, so although it's painful to sit in silence with Frain, I at least have a bit of a distraction where the other two smugglers are concerned.

"Did ya hear?" Quick's gravelly voice interrupts Des in the middle of an admittedly boring bit of dirt about some noble's alleged ties to Tevinter.

Des pouts her rosebud lips at him. "Hm? What?"

"I'm surprised!" Quickley's voice is lilting, the half-elf's brown eyes sparkling in amusement. He always has an ear to the ground for gossip of all sorts, so it's no surprise that he has a leg up on Des, who only ever has her radar tuned to the political arena in the off-chance that she has any info worth using for blackmail. A twisted smile crawls across the man's tanned face. "News' been all over the city tonight."

Rolling her gray eyes, Des sneers, "Oh, bloody hell. We've been working the whole damn time, so spit it out already! Did you get this from the barkeep again? It better not be more 'useful' gossip like which nobleman has been spotted ducking into the Rose. Tell me who they had and _then_ it might be something to crow about."

I dig my dagger into the table, carving out a sliver of grainy wood as my companions continue to chat (well, _bicker_ for the most part) about what constitutes "valuable" gossip. I figure this is just Quickley trying to find some way into Des’ pants. He'll tell some funny bit of gossip, buy us all another round, then take Des to the back alley for a bit of fun. The usual charade. But I’m thrown off when the “usual charade” turns into something more when Quick puts all of his teeth on display as he laughs, "Someone finally stuck it to that snobbish rich bitch. Heard she got herself carved up like a Feastday goose!"

At this, Des’ pale brow furrows. "Huh? Who?"

"The Fereldan arsehole's mum. _Leandra Hawke_!"

Shiny metal skips across a groove in the wood and nearly comes back to pierce my left arm, which rests on the table. Cold green eyes are on me but I don't care. I stare at Quickley. Des must see how I jerk to attention, because she swallows hard and throws Quickley an ugly look. "Shh!"

"What?"

Leaning across the table, the dwarf spits, "We _work_ with one of Hawke's people, you daft oaf!"

Shock and confusion swirl across the man's face. "Wha-? Oh. Right." Now he’s scowling once he remembers that inconvenient fact.

I barely register what they say. I think Quick comments on me having a wandering eye for jobs or something, but his words seem to fade out and away like I'm drifting underwater. It feels like I have cotton in my ears and I'm looking at the world through fogged glasses. Shakily, I get to my feet, ignoring the way I sway and especially ignoring Frain's cold, knowing look. I ignore a lot as I rush out of the tavern. I ignore the ale that courses through my veins in lieu of blood and I ignore the harsh shouts from the many people I shove out of the way. I'm out of the tavern before either of the smugglers can get an intelligible word out.

The humidity does my already sluggish breathing no favors and I curse myself for drinking so much. It had to be _this_ day, of all the days and all the jobs, where I actually accepted Quick's offer to buy me many rounds of ale. Usually I'd be all "one and done" around that slime, but Frain's very presence gave me goosebumps. So, I kept drinking. Now, I have to lean on decrepit buildings for support and pray that I don't take a nosedive down every flight of steps I come across.

As I continue to stumble my way to Hightown, I pray that this is all just some wretched rumor. Many had been spread about the Hawkes when the family started its fast ascent up the social ladder. Rumors ranging from incest to blackmail (that is, that the Hawkes blackmailed the Viscount into letting them reside in the neighborhood of nobility, hence Hawke's position at the Viscount's side), I've heard them all and scoffed at them all. Occasionally I punched the source in the throat. But this? A _death rumor_? How low can these people go?

I'm grateful for the coverage that the darkness of midnight allows me, because I'm sure I look like some crazed lunatic stumbling through the streets and grasping at walls like a drowning person. Occasionally I go completely stiff and "casual" when a guard walks by, and then I'm back to being all neurotic. When the Hawke estate is finally in sight, my stomach sinks. There isn't a single light in the windows. I tell myself that that's because it's so late at night, so of course there would be no lights. I'm pounding on the door regardless, though. I don't care how late it is. I need to know that what I've heard is a horrible lie.

The side of my hand stings as I continue to bang on the door relentlessly until a sleep-deprived looking Bodahn finally answers, candle in hand. He looks so different compared to the last time I saw him that I just stare for a bit, forgetting my reason for disturbing the peace. His blue eyes are fogged with exhaustion, his posture is defeated, and he looks like he's aged twenty years. The hesitance in his eyes when he recognizes me confirms my fears before he even manages to say, "I... I suppose you've heard the news, then?"

My grandmother would slap me senseless if she saw me barrel over the dwarf the way that I do. I don't wait for an invitation to come inside, I just plunge on into the darkness and freeze. It's so dark in here. Not even the fireplace is lit. A warm circle of light comes from the dwarf's candle as he comes to stand beside me. He isn't rattling off his usual platitudes. Everything feels so wrong. This house seems too large and too empty. That's when I realize that Biscuit isn't even here.

"Hawke?" I call into the dark.

"I'm afraid he isn't here, serah."

I round on the steward. "Well, where the hell is he?"

Sad blue eyes look down and away. "I apologize, but I don't know. He left a while ago."

"Do you know where he went?"

The dwarf either doesn't register my increasingly hostile tone or he has the patience of a saint. "I believe he went out for a walk. He needed a bit of air, I think. Understandably so." His words hang in the air before he continues, "Would you like to wait?"

None of this feels real. In fact, I don't even know for sure if Leandra is dead or just injured. The rumor didn't give me much to go on... She could be alive. She- it wouldn't make sense for her to be dead. No one had any reason to kill her. She was likable. She was kind. No one has reason to kill a nice person, right? But this is Kirkwall and Kirkwall is cruel. To keep the foolish tears at bay, I tug my cowl down further. I tell myself that I don't know the full story, so I need to get information and stop being so damn dramatic.

"I need to know," I blurt.

Bodahn doesn't even need me to explain. He just watches me with those pitiful blue eyes. "Lady Leandra spoke so kindly about you. She cared for you very much, I believe." For some reason I can't see him clearly anymore. Throat tight, I turn my back on him. I can just barely make out the grooves in the stone wall of the entryway. They blur and wobble like they're made of gelatin. Behind me, Bodahn continues, "She didn't deserve this. She was a good woman."

"What happened?" I try to put as much force as possible in my voice but it sounds so small.

"She was... lured, as I understand it. A, uh, a blood mage posed as a suitor and he…"

_God…_

My knees feel weak. Before I know it, I'm sitting on the bench, head in my hands. It feels like the world is spinning like a top. Bodahn offers to get me something to drink but I tell him that I want to be left alone. At least, I think I do. I can't even hear myself speak anymore. For his part, the steward lights the fireplace and gives me my space- probably thinking that I'm going to wait for Hawke. Exhaling slowly, I raise my head. I can barely hear Bodahn speaking to someone in another room. I think it's his son, Sandal.

Although I initially had no intentions of sitting around, waiting for Hawke, I discover that I've been doing exactly that for maybe five hours. Five hours of being alone with my thoughts, thinking of Leandra and how Carver and Garrett must be devastated. Her death reminded me of my own- I'm so self-centered. I can only imagine how my grandparents must have felt. How Carl and Chey were left to pick up the pieces and move on. Did they do it alone? Did it take a while to get over?

For all my caterwauling about being hot stuff, how I can get by on my own just fine, "I don't need anyone!" I'd say... This is tough and Leandra wasn't even my mother. We didn't even know each other all that well and yet I feel like someone has stuck a hot knife into my chest and is slowly turning it. God, I can't wait for grief to turn into rage. I can't stand grief. I want to get angry. I want to get revenge on the sick bastard who preyed on Leandra Hawke.

Getting up, I walk into the main room and stand before the dead fireplace. I kneel before it, staring at the cooling ash. Strangely, I want to laugh. This all seems so surreal. Sure, I've been around death before. But usually the person who died wasn't someone I knew. And Bartlett was- Looking to the side, I see a table covered in neat stacks of letters. A beam of early morning light illuminates them along with a single white lily. I walk over and gaze at the requests for aid, job opportunities from anonymous sources, and... something else. I touch an open letter where familiar words are splayed haphazardly in the chicken-scratch handwriting that used to adorn my class notes.

" _My Dearest Lady Leandra, I regret that I cannot-_ "

I turn away in disgust. Did I really think being a pandering flatterer made my refusals any better? There must be at least three of them on the table, all opened and tucked away neatly to a corner. Regret burns deep in my heart, it burns so much that I feel like I can't breathe. Leandra was in trouble, she was _dying_ , and I wasn't even there. I couldn't even be assed to sit across a table from her and eat dinner for one day out of the entire goddamned week. Ah... There it is... The anger.

Turning on my heel, I leave the estate and head for Lowtown. I'm sure news of this tragedy is all over the city by now (frankly, I was probably the last to catch wind of it), which means it should be fairly easy for me to grease the wheels and get some information on the disgusting pig who murdered my boss' mother. On the way back, I think of a dozen ways to kill the man. It doesn't even bother me that my heart has iced over so much that I can think about torturing someone without feeling ill. As I get to my home, I freeze when I see Julian exiting with the strangest expression on his face. It's barely daylight out.

He spots me quickly and grins uneasily. "Mornin'! Good lord, it's like I never see you around anymore. You're not avoidin' me, are ya?" Before I can respond, he adds hastily and with a bit of an edge to his voice, "You got a letter late yesterday evenin'. While you were out."

"Julian," I greet coldly, slowly coming off of the high of murderous intent, "hey."

Brown eyes appraise me carefully and the man adjusts his dark tunic on his skeletal form. He gives me a slow nod. "I heard about what happened. Shame. That Leandra lady seemed real nice."

That snaps me out of my bloodlust haze faster than anything. "What? How do you know about that?"

Lips twitch into some strange hybrid of a smile and a frown. "Best you get inside. I'm gonna go for a walk or somethin'. I'll be back in a couple of hours or- I dunno. Before nightfall, for sure."

Suspicious, I watch the Palm saunter off in the direction of the marketplace. I guess word really has spread, then. My shoulder aches when I use it to nudge the door open, but my mind quickly reels from pain to shock when I spot a figure sitting stiffly at the only table in my home. If the dark cloak trimmed with golden embellishments hadn't tipped me off to who he was, the large, sulking Mabari at his feet would have. The aforementioned dog sits at attention when he spots me but doesn't rush away from his owner's side. He knows Hawke is hurting.

_How long has he been here?_

Hastily, I close the door behind me and scurry over. "Hawke? I- What are you doing here?"

As if just realizing I arrived, the mage stands in a hurry and fixes me with a solemn look. My heart squeezes when I see that he has dark circles under his eyes and those usually glimmering golden eyes are rimmed red. The apostate clears his throat. "Mina... I'm afraid I have bad news. I know you've been quite busy and sometimes your profession has you out of the city, so you must not have heard." Hawke pauses when his voice trembles. He was rushing all of that out in one breath. "Mina, my mother-"

"I know," I blurt before I can stop myself. For some reason, I think I can spare him a bit of pain if I keep him from saying it aloud. "I know, Hawke. I know and I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I see..." Hawke looks away, seeming a bit absent, before fixing me with a curious look. "Did Varric tell you?"

"No, I just heard from- I heard from Bodahn. I stopped by earlier and he told me." I prefer not to tell him that there are some sickos out there who get pleasure out of his suffering. I clench my fists at my sides and ask, "Do you know who did it? If you do, just tell me and I swear to you I will find that bastard and I will make him pay. I'll do this for you, for Carver, I'll do this for Leandra. I swear it. I don't care if he's some noble or if he has connections that could get me kicked out of the city or something. He _has_ to answer for this."

"He's already dead."

I cringe at my previous word vomit. Good God I must have sounded like some raving lunatic thirsting for blood. And this wasn't even a situation where the revenge was mine! If anyone should have hunted or offered to hunt the blood mage down, it should have been Hawke or Carver. Or _Gamlen._ Oh, well. It's not the first time I've made myself seem like an absolute nutter to Hawke and it definitely won't be the last. However, the look Hawke is giving me makes me want to disappear into the floor. His golden eyes stare at me intently.

"He's dead? O-Oh." Rubbing my scar with a knuckle, I look away. "Good, good. I take it you...?"

"Yes. I'm the one who killed him. What he did to mother was... unforgivable in its brutality." Hawke turns away to sit back down at the table and Biscuit puts his head on the mage's knee. "I couldn't let him live even if he hadn't killed her."

I take a seat across from him, sitting gently like any wrong move will upset the mage. I know Hawke isn't made of glass, but I also know that I have a bad habit of being indelicate about sensitive things. So, I'm being cautious. After a moment, I ask, "Why do you say that?"

"If I had let him live, he would have killed many more women."

_What the hell?_

I swear, "Son of a bitch. He was a _serial killer_?"

"Yes. Aveline and I had been tracking his movements for some time. He always sent his victims a white lily before he murdered them. He will no longer terrorize the women in this city now." Gloved hands clasp each other on the table. They tremble almost imperceptibly. "If I had caught him sooner-"

I reach over and grab his hands. "Don't think like that, Hawke. It's _not_ your fault. You aren't responsible for someone else's actions. You told me that before." I smile comfortingly. "If there's anything you need, I'm here."

Garrett sighs and shakes his head, "I know you're busy, Mina, but thank you for the offer. I'm fine. Truly."

_Busy, he says_. _We're both too damn busy for anything._

"Oh, shut up," I snap before I can get a hold on my temper. "Stop trying to act all stoic. Everyone knows that you're strong, Hawke. But we know that you're human, too. You just lost your mother... It's okay to be sad. It's okay to cry. This is your free pass where I won't make fun of you. I promise."

That makes him smile faintly. "Hm. You're passing up a perfectly good opportunity to tease me? That's comforting."

I grip his hand. "Seriously. I'm not gonna laugh at you or act like a troll. This is me respecting your right to grieve." Frowning, I withdraw. "And, now that I think about it, it's your right to grieve your own way. You don't need to cry just because _I_ do it all the time. But just know that I'm going to be here, for sure. No more running around with nasty smugglers. I was getting tired of that life anyway." I look him in the eye. "I'll leave you alone until you're ready to deal with people. Okay? I know you must need your space right now."

"Thank you. Really, Mina. I do appreciate this." Hawke looks like he wants to say something else. A gloved hand runs through messy dark hair and I realize just how exhausted he looks. The man is running himself ragged and Leandra's death was too much.

"But?"

He sighs, "I don't want to be alone."

I clear my throat loudly as my nose begins to burn and my eyes start stinging. "I'll be honest, I'm not sure how to behave around you. Loss isn't something I'm accustomed to. Yeah, I know that's weird coming from the woman who lost her entire life, but it's true."

"Just be here."

We stare at each other for a while before I nod. "Okay. I can do that." Looking around, I get up and dust off my bed. "Lie down." When Hawke furrows his brow, I roll my eyes. "I'm not going to try anything, Hawke. At least not with a witness," I joke weakly when Biscuit cocks his head. Hawke only gives me a bland look. I sigh, "Just take a nap. You need some rest after all you've been through."

Surprisingly enough, the mage relents. I sit at the table, watching as he removes his belt, boots, and cloak before settling under the covers. Biscuit is quick to hop up and rest on his owner's legs. Hawke faces me, eyes like molten gold watching me tiredly. I swear it's like he's trying to have a staring contest or something. Slowly but surely, his eyes lose focus and begin to close. When Hawke is asleep, I carefully go about tidying up the place since it's an embarrassment.

As I tuck away discarded clothing and square away the room, I notice a letter that was tossed carelessly onto the table. I hadn't noticed it earlier, what with Hawke being my primary focus. I take the tightly scrolled piece of parchment. Curious, I unravel it and look over the contents. A grin spreads across my face when I recognize the neat handwriting. Despite the terrible thing that happened to the Hawke family and all who care for them (myself included), this makes me feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. However, my grin falters when I see that the letter is short. It's only _one word_. One word that would hardly be ominous in any other context. I feel a tension headache coming on when I read it.

" _Practice_ _._ _”_

* * *

Parchment crinkles in my fist, a sharp pinch against my skin. Breath comes in and out of my nose slowly and steadily as I try to calm myself. Didn’t I say things would happen in rapid succession? Yeah, I was talking about the demon talking and then inevitable death/possession, but… It’s all a little too coincidental. Slowly, I lower myself to sit at the foot of my bed, not paying much mind to the sleeping Mabari. Biscuit blinks at me curiously from his spot on Hawke's feet before going back to sleep with a huff.

In one night, I had two out of three bits of unfinished business pushed closer to completion. Never before have I ever felt like such a damn conspiracy theorist, drawing connections where connections likely don’t exist. However, Frain’s sudden reappearance and then Mike’s unsubtle nudge toward practicing my compulsion…? It’s… Am I just trying to convince myself that Frain would be really good target practice? Because at this point, with how evasive she is and with how she gives me the creeps, she’s seems like she’d be _really good target practice_.

Apparently I must be thinking and brooding too loudly for the Mabari, because he's bumping my elbow with his nose and trying to force his head under my arm. Despite myself, I snort. The great doofy dog actually lifts my mood a bit and I give him a kiss on his big head. Suddenly, the dog jumps off of the bed and begins to claw at the door. I sigh.

_Just be cool._ _Just… do what you do best: Rationalize._

"Aw, do you need to pee?" I ask in a baby voice and the war hound whimpers. Making my way over, I open the door and the dog bolts from the house like it's Satan's abode. I squint my eyes as he runs off into the sunset, seemingly never to be seen again. For a second, I hope I didn't just make Hawke's dog run away from home. When I turn back around, I jolt violently to find the aforementioned mage sitting up. "Son of a gun! You _seriously_ need a bell!"

Golden eyes watch me tiredly. "Is everything all right?" His voice is thick with sleep.

"Aside from the impure thoughts of you being in my bed right now? Yes. Your dog just needed to go out." I force a grin at the now fully awake and frowning mage as I deftly stuff the letter into my purse.

"Mina."

Rolling my eyes, I saunter back over and plop back down on the foot of the bed. "Oh, chill out, will ya? I'm just teasing." When the silence drags on for a bit too long, I glance over. "How are you feeling?"

The mage watches me quietly before responding at length, "Better."

"Good."

We sit in silence for a bit longer before Hawke says, "Thank you."

I turn to look at him with an incredulous expression on my face. He's picking at the scratchy blanket, looking oddly bashful. Honestly, I'm glad that I'm serving as some sort of distraction for him, what with all that's happened. In keeping with my distracting behavior, I snort, "For letting your dog out or...?" The intense look in his eyes answers that question. "Seriously? No need to thank me, Hawke. This is what friends are for." I smile warmly.

"Friends," the mage repeats, looking down at the threadbare blanket covering his lower half.

His reaction has my brow furrowing. With great care, I respond, "You know what I mean, Hawke. Though you’re my,” I almost choke on the word but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, “ _lover_ , we’re also really good friends. At least, I like to think so."

At that, Hawke hesitates. Suspicious and on edge, I watch as the mage shifts almost uncomfortably in the bed, his back against the nearly nonexistent, splinter-ridden headboard. His agile fingers tug at the dark fabric of his tunic. Looking at his lithe fingers makes me think of the rest of him. Like the exact stereotype of a mage, Hawke is all lean muscle- perfectly fitting that "glass cannon" image. And he's tall- _tall_ tall- without being too lanky. I feel a bit self-conscious being in the same room as a guy who is _probably_ way more attractive than me. Jerk.

However, with our close proximity, my staring doesn't go unnoticed. Not by a long-shot. For a second I think Hawke murmurs a curse to himself, cheeks slowly turning pink beneath dusky lashes as he continues to fiddle with his tunic and my blanket in equal measure. It's almost laughable to see him this nervous. After a moment, his eyes meet mine. "When I first came to Kirkwall, I thought Varric was the only friend I would ever make here."

I snort at that. "Seriously? With your winning personality, it's a wonder you don't have people lined up around the corner just to see you."

Golden eyes give me a pointed look and my snark is snuffed out like a weak flame in a rainstorm. Hawke elaborates, "I suppose 'friend' isn't the right word- I have many friends, which may come as a surprise to you," he smiles softly, "however, being who I am and with how I grew up, I would never... I mean I certainly wouldn't..." The mage frowns, seeming to struggle with his words.

"Wouldn't...?" I drawl, eyebrow raising.

"I wouldn't say that I completely trust them, at least not how I trust you." Hawke's golden eyes sear into mine. My heart leaps and I break eye contact first, feeling relieved and ashamed in equal measure. "I don't know what I would do without you," Hawke suddenly says, looking serious. His face is grave as usual, but there's something in those molten gold eyes of his.

"Oh, you'd be _fine_ without me!" I scoff and wave him off, trying to regain my composure and failing miserably what with the mage being so endearing. Good lord, how can he be so damn composed right now? He really is a golem!

_Damn him!_

Hawke shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. "You don't understand, Mina."

He sounds so matter of fact, so professional. I blink at him curiously and put a bit of distance between us. "What don't I understand?" Golden eyes stare, filled with trepidation. When I realize that he's not going to respond any time soon, I sigh, "You said you trust me, right? What is it?" When he doesn't immediately respond, I'm about to word-vomit an apology for being secretive when a loud scratching at the door nearly makes me fall off of the bed. I bolt up and stare at the door before realization dawns on me. "Shit! Your dog!"

"My what?" Hawke queries, taken aback by the very sudden shift in conversation.

I waste no time making my way to the door where the Mabari hasn't stopped his incessant scratching. I open it and Biscuit pads in, a sloppy doggy grin on his face, before going and jumping on Kiriyama's bed. He gives Hawke a pointed look before turning his back on us and conking out on the bed. The big dog even begins to snore. What a tough life.

Smiling stiffly, I sit back on the bed with Hawke and try to play it cool. _Try_ being the operative word. But Hawke is perceptive. I feel his eyes on me as he asks, "What's wrong?"

He wants me to be honest, doesn’t he? And I said I would be, didn’t I? God, I hope I don’t regret being honest. Casting Hawke a wary glance, I ask at great length and with many painful pauses, "Would your opinion of me… _lower_ significantly if I were to _try_ and be better at… well… being Summoned?"

The mage pauses, not expecting that question. "How do you mean? In what way could you be a ‘better’ Summoned?" Golden eyes raze over me and I almost flinch. "You mean practice your compulsion?"

"Well, yeah. That seems to be my primary function as Summoned." I frown at that. I just made myself sound like a tool. Well, a tool that one works with, not a dumbass. Though, some days, I’m certainly a dumbass. "It's just that, uh, so…" How do I say that my brother wants me to use a particular spirit to compel people or else I’ll supposedly wind up evicted from my body? How do I say that and not sound batshit crazy? “I learned from that old book, you remember the one? Yeah. Well, this past week I’ve been continuing with research and I learned that if I’m out of practice with my compulsion, I can wind up hurting myself the next time I use it. So, I should practice and… get better.”

The brunet mage seems to be buying this nonsense, surprisingly enough. Then again, Hawke is one of those diligent mages who surely practiced his craft for ages. So, the idea of _me_ needing to practice my peculiar “magic” doesn’t strike him as being so odd. However, he doesn’t quite let me off the hook when he asks, “Does Anders know this?”

Honestly, Hawke isn’t even acting suspicious. He’s acting like this is a normal conversation and yet I feel an intense pressure as if I’m being interrogated. It’s what makes me blurt out, “Of course.”

_And I just roped the blond into a lie. Son of a bitch._

For some reason, though, I feel like Anders will be happy that I roped him into this lie… because now, thanks to my lame brain, I _have_ to tell him about the shitshow I’ve remained silent about for this past week. He’ll get to look at the book again, he’ll probably want to see my compulsion in action, and he’ll be up to his neck in Summoned affairs. _Exactly_ what I was trying to avoid ever since Julian got all foreboding on my ass.

And because I _have_ to find a silver lining _somewhere_ lest I go completely mad, I tell myself: Who better to observe my compulsion than Anders? When there’s a risk of me getting my sorry butt possessed if I “listen to the wrong spirit” or demon or whatever? And then, because I absolutely _have_ to tarnish that silver lining, I wonder if Anders would have the stomach to execute me if the dreaded possession were to happen _even if_ Mike says there’s a chance I could get my body back.

‘Cause what would be better than Kirkwall having a possessed “weapon” running around in the streets, compelling people to do God only knows what? Note the overdose of sarcasm. I’m not nearly foolish or selfish enough to want everyone to let my body run amok while Mike somehow finds a way to bring me out of the Fade and back into my body. Jesus. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why I’m even _considering_ practicing this shit.

_So you don’t get possessed the next time you compel someone?_

And considering I’ve already accidentally done it a few times, I realize I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. At least with practice, I can go out on my own terms by picking a date and a safe venue… and the right target. All is silent as Hawke watches me in that curious, delicate way of his when he thinks I’m emotionally vulnerable. He says softly, "If you need to practice compulsion, I understand. I’m not going to judge you, Mina."

My stomach twists and I offer him a pained smile. "Just sleep, Hawke. You've been through a lot and you- you really need the rest."

* * *

A knock at the door startles me out of my stupor. I had taken to staring at the wall while sitting at the table, which makes the interruption all the more startling. Thinking it's Julian with his impeccable timing, I glance back at a sleeping Hawke before I scurry to the door and wrench it open, ready to tell Julian to come back later. Standing on the doorstep, prim and proper, is a familiar blond dwarf with worry on his face. I blink down at him in confusion for a moment before slowly exiting the house and closing the door behind me.

"Hawke is inside, asleep," I murmur awkwardly.

Amber eyes appraise me critically. "You look like-"

"Shit?" I finish and the dwarf smiles apologetically. "Yeah, well, my day hasn't been as bad as Hawke's."

Varric gives me a long, hard look before saying, "She was like a mother to you, too. Anyone with eyes could see that."

"But she wasn't and I wasn't there." Crossing my arms, I sigh and glare at a random building. The morning sun is already sweltering with my dark cowl trapping heat. Sometimes I wonder why I even keep the damn thing on, considering my hair is so worn out and sun-bleached that it's more of a faded sage green. It isn't terribly eye-catching anymore. Not like I need to hide anymore, anyway. A quarter of this city is filled with people called Lucky and Carrow is supposedly on his way to a dirt nap. Still... My hand comes up and I wrap my fingers in the rough, dark cloth.

_Better safe than sorry._

"Just because you were absent, it doesn't mean you don't have a right to mourn."

"I know, I'm just... being difficult, as always." In an attempt to seem moderately friendly, I shoot the dwarf an insincere smile.

Yes, the fact that I wasn't there for Leandra tortures me. And yes, I'm going to give myself hell for that fact for as long as I see fit. That's how I'll grieve. That's my penance.

"I was looking after Hawke. I was there when... well." Varric glances at the door behind me, wrenching me from my thoughts. "I've been watching over him since, but he slipped away practically the second I turned my back. You were his obvious intended visit, but I thought you two might need some space." The dwarf shrugs his shoulders. "I should have known better than to try and keep him under house arrest. How is he now?"

I toe the ground uncomfortably. "He's doing well, all things considered. He came here to give me the news."

"And you already knew." Varric turns his amber eyes away from me and watches a few people on the street. They talk to each other animatedly, saying something about the market prices for meat being akin to robbery. "Along with half the damn city. News travels fast here, as always." He turns to give me a wry grin but frowns. "You look nervous. Something on your mind?"

For a second I curse Varric for being so good at reading faces. Back home, I could trick anyone into thinking we were on good terms when I really wanted to make them eat dirt. I could even trick those buzzards who were my maternal grandparents into thinking I tolerated them. But Varric Tethras? The winsome but sly dwarf with a network of spies at his beck and call is hard to pull one over on. He seems to know when someone is upset before they even realize it themselves. So, right now, when I'm thinking about possibly getting possessed just ‘cause my brother said so... I can't give him a chance to see _that_.

"Do you mind hanging around, Shortcake? I have something to take care of. Julian is out and about and I don't trust him to be skulking around on these streets without an escort." I smile and the perceptive dwarf seems to find a grain of truth in my word vomit.

"After all we’ve been through together, the least I can do is be here for Hawke." The dwarf nods his head somberly. _But then_ Varric gives me a strange look and I know he's going to drag this out for a bit longer. Despite myself, I stick around for whatever it is he has to say. "By the way, you mentioned Julian... I might know where he is right now."

Hooking my thumbs into my belt, I throw my favorite dwarf a curious smile. "Oh? Where? I figured I would just wander the streets until I stumbled across him," I lie.

"Well, stumble no further. He's most likely with Daisy."

The world seems to freeze for a second before his words finally sink in. " _What_?" My voice cracks through the air like thunder and a few passersby visibly startle.

"Yeah. He's been visiting her since you took your leave of absence." Varric looks none too pleased and seems to imply that if I hadn't let Julian run amok by clocking out, the weirdo wouldn't have gone after the sweet green-eyed elf. "Although he doesn't seem to have bad intentions, I'm keeping an eye on that. You should probably do the same, too."

_Translation: I haven't had him killed yet because I was thinking of you. Sort that shit out._

"Oh, you bet I will," I hiss and head to the Alienage, thoughts of suspicious green-eyed blondes and potential possession left on the back-burner to chill.

Did I imagine the conversation in which I told Julian my friends were off-limits? Julian would only seek out Merrill's company for one reason. The very idea makes my stomach flip and churn. Our previous conversation has often popped into my head at the most inopportune moments- mostly when I'm in the company of a mage. The thought of _bonding_ still makes me feel ill. That parasitic lifestyle isn't appealing in the slightest and yet Julian says it's the only way I can have some semblance of a normal life... Sometimes I think it's a wonder that I've survived for so long.

"Mina!"

_Huh?_

My knuckles smart and I realize that I'm in the Alienage and have already knocked incessantly on Merrill's door. In fact, my hand still hangs in the air where the door once was, going through the knocking motion like I'm some freak. Said elf is staring at me with a mixture of surprise and pleasure on her face as she stands in the doorway of her little home, graciously ignoring my weirdness. "It's been a while, huh?" I chuckle, dropping my hand to my side.

"It has. What brings you here?" Merrill sounds friendly enough but blocks the doorway with her lithe frame. My eyebrows pop up.

I can't help but notice the bags under the pretty little mage's eyes and her rumpled appearance. She looks like she's been to hell and back and I'm immediately worried. This is about her mirror, isn't it? I had heard Hawke and Anders murmuring concernedly about it on a few occasions, that she's getting worse with it, but I hadn't thought anything of it because I like to distance myself from those two when they talk about Merrill due to their obvious disdain for blood magic. Long story short, I don't trust myself to play nice when they decide to talk smack about my doe-eyed friend.

Just because I have it bad for Hawke, that doesn't mean I've signed up for some hive-mind mentality. We have our separate interests and our own beliefs. I still have a taste for smuggling, my shady influence hasn't corrupted Paragon Hawke's morals, and he hasn't changed my mind about my blood mage pal. The man can kiss me until the cows come home but nothing he can say or do will make me turn on my Dalish comrade.

"I come bearing the gift of my presence!" I announce grandly as I sidestep the elf and make my way into her home. Just from her body language, I could tell the elf had no intentions of inviting me in. But when have I ever ignored a friend in need? Never. Even when they insist that they're fine. When I'm in the house and Merrill has reluctantly closed the door, I freeze. Her table is completely covered in books and scrolls. This looks a lot like Carrow's room... After batting the thought away, I turn to the young woman. "I'm just checking in. I heard you've had a gentleman caller."

She doesn't even blush, so I know nothing too weird is going on between the two. "Julian? Oh, Mina, he's just a friend. And he's _your_ friend, too, so you should know him well enough to know he isn't like _that_." Merrill shakes her head of pretty black hair at me, as if disappointed by my antics.

_Er, like what? The heck does that even mean?_

"Friend, eh?" I drawl and settle onto a free chair.

"Yes," she insists patiently, retreating into her back room. "He's only a friend and a very kind one, at that. He knows a lot about blood magic, which is odd for someone without magical abilities. He told me that he's fascinated by mages, which is nice of him to say."

Fascinated by mages? Ha! So, he's trying to snake his way into Merrill's good graces by leaving out the fact that he loathes mages to his very core? I honestly didn't think Merrill was such a sucker. But I guess she's been lonely... I haven't visited her in ages and Julian played on my friendship with her to get his foot in the door. That piece of trash. Though I'm irritated that Julian has been targeting the adorable blood mage, I'm satisfied to find that he isn't here. Lucky for him, really.

"I never told you before, but you remind me of someone."

Looking up from the floor where I had been carelessly toeing a rather robust dust bunny, I fix my gaze on the lithe Dalish mage. Those big verdant eyes watch my every move like I'm some new pet that she doesn't know how to approach. She seems nervous. As luck would have it, I think I arrived just as my elven companion was tinkering with her bizarre broken mirror. Leaning over in the chair to get a better view of her in her back room, I see that I'm right.

Noticing my gaze, the mage quickly steps in front of her creepy old mirror and I frown. The foggy and cracked glass doesn't show much of a reflection so the thing is totally useless, but it has an eerie beauty about it that isn't from the ornate framing. It's hard for me to put my finger on what it is, but the mirror seems... I'm tempted to ask Merrill why she even bothers with the mirror, but I don't want to put her off if she's as sensitive about it as Hawke and Anders say.

"Oh, yeah?" I yawn into the crook of my arm and watch the brunette with tired, watery eyes. "Who?"

"An old friend," she says carefully as she moves away from the mirror and out into the living room, "who was very brave and well-loved. His name was Theron and he was a skilled warrior. He loved to make jokes, too, like you." She smiles wistfully for a fraction of a second before her expression is clouded over with pain. "He was close to another friend of mine, Tamlen. The two were like brothers. It was hard to lose them both."

"Lose them? They're dead?" I ask and cringe at that stupid question.

Thin fingers touch her bottom lip as she glances back at her mirror. "I... I don't know. Tamlen disappeared and Theron died from the Taint. He encountered Darkspawn and a- well, a story for another time. You look tired, lethallan."

"I'm fine, actually. As it turns out, I'd make a perfect soldier since I need very little sleep to function semi-properly. Thank you for letting me visit on such short notice, by the way."

_More like thank you for letting me barge into your house while I was hunting my psycho roommate._

"Oh, it's no trouble! But may I ask why the sudden visit?" Her pale cheeks turn a vivid red when I quirk a brow at her question. "Not that I mind!"

"Well, I haven't seen you in a while and-" I blush about as red as my companion and cough to cover up my sudden pause at hiding my true, selfish reason for visiting. "I'd be a pretty bad friend if I didn't at least visit once in a while, so I figured I'd come and say hi to my favorite Dalish mage."

She giggles, "I'm the _only_ Dalish mage that you know, Mina."

"How can you be so sure? You don't know the finer details of my life, sweet Merrill," I drawl, cupping my chin and shooting her a wink.

"You know another Dalish mage?"

"Nope."

"Oh, Mina."

For a second I feel like we're in a cheap sitcom and a laugh track is about to play. When it doesn't, I lean back in my chair and watch the elven mage. Merrill sits across from me stiffly and begins to silently read one of the many thick tomes on her table. After an agonizing amount of silence, she glances up and clears her throat delicately. "I suppose you've heard... about Hawke's mother?"

My heart nearly rips out of my chest and I force a surprised laugh. " _Wow_ , it's getting late!" I stand so quickly that the chair makes an ugly screech and I hope I didn't scratch up sweet Merrill's floor. "I'll see you around, Merrill. Take care!" Although she seems confused and concerned, Merrill also seems a tad eager for me to leave and I think it has something to do with that mirror. But what do I know?

It isn't even late when I get outside, so I immediately know that Merrill knew my piss poor excuse was absolute nonsense. The sun still shines brightly, making my awful mood even worse. I'm heading home when I stop mid-stride. I want to be alone and yet I don't. However, I'm wise enough to know that Varric and Hawke probably have their heads together at the moment… Y’know, in my home. The only refuge that I have. And I can’t go looking for Frain ‘cause she said she’d be looking for me. I guess all I can do is what I’ve been doing best this past week:

Wait.


	45. Fuel to Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know it took me forever to update, but I take some satisfaction in knowing that I didn't take a year! So... Anyway, before I hurt myself by patting my own damn back too much, I just wanted to let y'all know that this fic is about to undergo some major changes, namely more new chapters and I'm _finally_ gonna put Kiriyama's chapters back in here. Yeah, rather than have them standing alone, I'm having them intertwine like back in the good ol' days of when this fic first started at about the same time that the universe was created. 
> 
> I'd also like to take some time to sincerely thank the lovely and infinitely sweet [angelbeets](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelbeets/pseuds/angelbeets) for commissioning [ drisrt](http://drisrt.tumblr.com/) for [art](http://onceuponapirate.tumblr.com/post/169983749672/mina-solis-and-garrett-hawke-from-the-the-bleeding) for this fic. Honestly, it means so much to me and I was completely gobsmacked that you'd do something like that. Thanks so much!
> 
> Hope y'all like this garbo chapter!

** 36\. Fuel to Fire **

Waiting is hard.

Sure, that makes me sound incredibly juvenile and like I lack proper impulse control, but it’s the truth. Especially when context is given. Waiting on an acceptance or rejection letter for college? A callback for a job? Maybe a call after a date? Waiting is _hard_. It feels like an indifferent type of psychological torture that doesn’t have the same nasty repercussions as _real_ psychological torture. Because the one doing the torturing doesn’t see it as torture. It’s just… business? Par for the course?

It’s not like I’m waiting to eat a slice of cake or waiting for a steak to finish cooking; nothing trivial, nothing that only constitutes momentary discomfort. I’m waiting for something big and I’m not even sure what it is. The knowledge of my origins? Already got that bare bones rundown. How to behave like a good little Eye? Orientation is over and the jury is still out on whether or not I’ll be using some random sucker for target practice. 

Although I said I’d practice my compulsion, I haven’t had the time to build myself up to essentially plan out what could be my death. When I was going to tell Anders of my plan to practice, I started going down some bizarre rabbit holes. I started picking clothes and sorting through my belongings, wondering what my friends might like. It was when I had a black tunic and the cowl Hawke had given me laid out on my bed that I backed out, hands trembling at my sides. Because I’m too afraid to die again.

But there’s something else that I’m waiting on aside from a personal strength that will never come. I’m waiting to know if the whole “Let’s _kinda_ kill Carrow” plan has worked. 

The silence is deafening on behalf of Steven Kiriyama and Michael Adler. Making me wait around for them to decide if and when they’ll contact me, they have all the power. I’ll admit that the thought of going to Ferelden crossed my mind quite a few times. But one trip was enough for me, thanks. It gave me a good idea as to how costly such a trip is; both with regard to actual material wealth and the physical toll since we aren’t talking a Royal Caribbean Cruise, here.

Then I considered trying to get into contact with Carrow through our lovely and highly inconvenient bond. If he picked up the phone, then obviously the plan didn’t work yet. If he didn’t? Then… Maybe he finally kicked it or he was on the toilet when I called for him? That felt like a bad idea, though. Like the blond blood mage might see it in my eyes that I was part of some great plot to have him _passively_ killed if I called on him. My poker face leaves a lot to be desired, after all.

There’s also a much more startling factor to consider that keeps me from jumping ship, so to speak: I now have roots here in Kirkwall. Stupid for a criminal. A rookie mistake, taking on a lover and making friends where you do your illicit deeds. What compounds these “roots” and my inability to take a shovel to them and cut them where they lie is that it's been almost fifteen or sixteen days since Leandra's passing and I’ve picked up an awfully _bad_ habit.

Most of my habits are bad, sure, but this one? It’s _bad_.

I've started babying Hawke- _Hawke_ , of all people! Coddling people was one of my biggest character flaws back home. It's something that comes off as condescending (like I know what's good for someone better than they do) and it's insanely hypocritical of me since I personally _hate_ being coddled. But I do it anyway. I know it's stupid and I still do it. What makes it even dumber is that I'm doing it to the most capable person in Kirkwall.

Lately, though, I've only seen Hawke in the evenings when he gets home- we haven't worked a job together in a while and… yes, I'm usually there to greet him at his estate with some food, mead, and some light-hearted conversation (mostly teasing) before heading back to my place close to midnight. I can't bring myself to stay over for two reasons: one, it would be awkward as hell and two, Julian would breathe down my neck about it in the morning. 

And although it certainly sucks to have to walk back home in the dead of night, I can't stand to leave Hawke alone until he's practically falling asleep in his chair as we talk.

If he's caught on to the fact that I've been coddling him, Hawke hasn't mentioned it. I only started treating him with kid-gloves when I noticed him becoming reclusive after Leandra's passing. If he’d stayed “normal,” I tell myself I wouldn’t have started this. But I think I would’ve done it anyway, for my own sake. Because coddling Hawke, though hypocritical, makes me feel good. I wasn’t there for him in his time of need but now I can be. And, _oh_ , am I there. I think nobles are starting to think I live with him…

What _sucks_ about getting attached to Hawke is that I’m now acutely aware of his moods and, lately, the sort of empty look on his face always makes me feel like crying. Before, I don’t think I would’ve even noticed such a change in the Golem of Kirkwall’s demeanor. He’s never at The Man, he works more than ever, sleeps maybe a grand total of ten hours a week, and has firmly thrust himself into Kirkwall's political minefield by playing babysitter and clean-up man for the Viscount. It’s how he grieves.

Hawke's unsubtle transformation into even more of a sleep-deprived workaholic hasn't gone completely unnoticed by our friends. Ex-prince Sebastian has been trying to get Hawke to attend morning sermons or at the very least _talk_ to the brother about his loss. Isabela has let up on her relic talk, which I guess worked out in her favor since Hawke actually helped her out with a lead concerning that sore spot ( _without me_ , much to my chagrin).

Aveline, bless her heart, has tried time and time again to arrange some sort of meeting between Carver and the elder Hawke but, as expected, Carver wasn't having any of it. The only silver lining in _that_ affair was that Carver was so beyond frustrated with Aveline's nudging that the young Hawke actually accepted a visit from _me_ and didn't spit my condolences back in my face. 

They're both lonely, Garrett and Carver. And Carver only blames Hawke for what happened to their mother because that's about the extent of what he can do. There's no bringing back the dead; a way that doesn’t require _blood magic_. Anyway, this transition into a "post-Leandra" world has felt surreal. Sometimes I think I'm dreaming but when I wake up she's still gone. It's like I died all over again and am having to readjust to the world. 

However, I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't going through something else. Something a little darker than mourning Leandra's passing and anxiety over waiting to hear back from Mike and Kiri. Something a little stranger than my desire to coddle Hawke like he's some frail thing. These desperately sad moods intermixed with bouts of hysteria are tiring. Sometimes, I feel the intense desire to get up and leave. Run and never look back.

"Hey? Did you hear me?" Julian asks, sounding far away. I ignore him. It’s easy to ignore him most days.

It’s a little odd, though. It’s like I’m regressing at breakneck speed, because I haven’t felt like _this_ since I first ended up in this world. Like I’m strangely detached from everyone and everything else; drifting through this bizarre life of mine, unable to get my bearings. In truth, I’m simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s how these things go, right? Major, life-altering events happen in rapid succession? Well, it certainly seems that way.

Everything usually gets triggered by a dream. I’ll have some disturbing dream hosted by the demonic dragon and then a real-life event occurs shortly after. Usually it’s vague and steeped in Summoned nonsense; it can be violent or confusing like that mishap with the beach mage or when I bitch-slapped Carrow. Typically- if it’s violent or if it’s just confusing- I don’t get an explanation for it either way. I’m just left to wonder with unanswered questions on my tongue while everyone else involved seems to know exactly what happened but don’t have the time or the patience to catch me up.

Suddenly, a plate of food is dropped on the table in front of me as Julian barks, "If you're gonna act like a manic depressive antisocial asshole, at least do it right! Shit!"

"What?" I blink, suddenly becoming fully cognizant of the fact that someone else is in the house with me. My gaze drops down to the roasted meat that sits in a puddle of its own gristle, the plate it’s on is a bit chipped and definitely wasn't cleaned properly before the Palm used it. A grimace threatens to twist my face but I somehow manage to turn it into a smile. I think. “Oh. Uh. Thanks, Jules.”

Julian huffs softly to himself before complaining loudly, "You’re never home and when ya _are_ , all you do is ignore me. Did I do somethin’ wrong?"

"Enough with the yelling, sheesh,” I groan, since this house is definitely too small for anyone to be exceptionally dramatic in it. Trust me, I’ve tried. “And on the subject of your wrongdoing, that’s definitely not a can of worms that _you_ want to open."

His overall evasiveness up until very recently isn’t at all forgotten. Julian's sallow cheeks flush at the idea that I’m still peeved about his behavior. For his part, Julian _does_ talk to me about Summoned affairs. However, I can’t give him much credit beyond that. He repeats the same talking points: glory to the parasitic lifestyle of attaching ourselves to mages so we can keep using our powers without repercussions, I should practice my compulsion so I don’t accidentally do it when I shouldn’t, and praise be to our true summoner Not. 

When I ask something off of the script, his face goes blank like an actor who forgot his lines and then he blushes; a sure sign that he doesn’t have answers. Fool that I am, I haven’t made the time to get him to fully translate the book Michael gave me yet, despite him offering his services. So busy being the caretaker that Hawke doesn’t need, I’ve none too subtly pushed Summoned research onto the back burner. Sometimes, I really piss myself off. Too busy grieving and playing the role of the overbearing girlfriend, I’ve purposefully hobbled myself and acted like someone else did it to me. 

_Troubling, really. Kinda funny, too. Not in a “ha-ha” sorta way, though._

‘Cause I’m here waiting for someone to grace me with information, looking like a total asshole because I have “the book” at my fingertips and a translator at the ready; neither of which I’ve properly utilized. I sigh, fingers tugging at the end of my simple tunic as I sit at the table. I suppose there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know the truth of my summoning and all it entails, even though I’ve been saying with every other breath that I do. Like when you take an exam and don’t feel good about it, then you get an alert that the results have been posted and you don’t want to look.

A prickling sensation causes goosebumps to slowly spread across my skin. Someone’s watching me. Considering there’s only one other person in this Lowtown hovel with me, I flick my gaze up to match Julian’s intense stare. The Palm sits across the table from me, stabbing senselessly at his meat (I don’t know what the meat is… Not steak, that’s for damn sure.). When the brunet realizes that I’m actually looking at him now, a smile struggles to find a home on his thin face.

“Sorry for not bein’ the teacher I said I’d be.” Those bony shoulders of his shrug stiffly. That up and down motion is hindered by the stiffness of his old linen shift. “But it’s been kinda hard to get in contact with ya. You’ve got me workin’ overtime at Andy’s and… well…” brown eyes dart away before looking back at me, “I know you’ve been keepin’ your beau company. Can’t say I blame you. I’d do the same if my lover’s mother got, well, _got_.”

I sigh once more, gaze falling back to my untouched food. “And by a blood mage, no less. I’ll admit that stirred up a few old feelings.”

“A few old fears,” Julian murmurs to himself. “Yeah. I gotcha.”

How long has it been since I talked to Julian? A full-fledged conversation? Probably about fifteen or sixteen days. Well, at least I’m consistent with my bullshit. It’s been such a long time since we’ve talked and he hasn’t gone off about me not being nearly as reverent as he’d like toward the dragon demon. Which, to be fair, the day _is_ still young. Surely the borderline zealot has one of those long-winded and scattered speeches up his sleeve for a rainy day.

Chewing on my lip a moment, I glance at Julian and confess, “You shouldn’t be sorry. Not really.” At the expectant raise of his eyebrows, I explain, “I’ve… been slacking off, too. I actually wanted to ask you if you could translate the book my brother gave to me. Anders and I didn’t make much headway and we haven’t done anything with it in a long time. I know the last time you and I brought it up was a while ago, too, and before that we,” I clear my throat, “fought about it.”

_“Fought” is a bit of an understatement._

Dark eyes watch me closely before the Palm says from strangely quirked lips, “Yeah. Sure thing. You’ve been really worryin' me lately, kid. I’d be glad to translate that text for ya, seein’ as my summoners, y’know,” he waves a thin hand about listlessly before shoving a cube of meat into his mouth, “thought it was cute as shit to teach me to be multilingual. I was like a pet project or somethin’. Least I know how to play the flute, too, thanks to those uppity nobles.”

“Oh. You play?” I wonder interestedly. At his raised eyebrows, I joke, “We should start a band. I vaguely know how to strum a lute and I’m a pretty good singer. Pipes might be a bit rusty, but I can carry a tune.”

My dark companion snorts into his meal. “Let’s only resort to that if we’re ‘bout to get evicted. Or we can do it for extra coin. Like a legit side business.”

“Karaoke night at The Man?” I chuckle and we fall into easy silence. 

I have to admit, the longer we’ve been with each other, the more Julian’s edges have softened and dulled. That, or I’ve just grown accustomed to his peculiar brand of abrasiveness. In a weird sort of way, I’ve become rather appreciative of Julian looking after me. _Sometimes_ the whole helicopter-parent schtick sets my teeth on edge. He's about a million times more over-protective than my grandpa and more strict than my authoritarian grandma; getting all in a tizzy when I nearly spend the night at Hawke’s, saying stuff like “people might talk” and other nonsense. 

"I made you a bath!" Julian suddenly shouts and I flinch out of my thoughts with a frown. The one thing I _haven’t_ got used to is his penchant for randomly declaring things that he nearly forgot about. ‘Cause he can’t just mention it, he has to practically shout it. At my irritated expression, Julian smiles apologetically. "Sorry." He chuckles lightly, "It's just that I got it prepped a little while ago and the water is probably too cold... so… I meant to tell you to wash up before you ate but, yeah.”

My eyes narrow as I watch him shift in his seat uncomfortably in the poorly lit room like he’s trying to prank me. He's being so weird that I begin to wonder if I stink or something and _that's_ why he just randomly made me a bath. "No, it's fine. I really appreciate it." I shake off his strange behavior before offering him a strained but grateful smile. "Thanks. I'll be quick about it."

"Nah, take your time," he sings at my back as I begin gathering a change of clothes and bathing supplies.

It's maybe four in the afternoon, so I have plenty of time to get clean and then possibly breathe down Julian’s neck while he translates the book. We might have to do it at Anders’ clinic, though, since it’s currently not being guarded- what with Julian being _here_ and not _there_. Suddenly I realize that I'm in the tub when a chill runs up my spine from the cool water. I bite back a curse and slowly sink in. Guess running on auto-pilot did me no favors this time around.

As I scrub my arms and elbows, I go through a list of supplies that I’ll need to take to the clinic for Julian to translate the texts that Anders and I have been agonizing over: Vellum, ink, and at least two quills since Julian has a bad habit of writing too hard to where he breaks the tip. Once I’m finished bathing and I’ve dressed, I step out into the house to find it empty. Maybe Julian went to the clinic to cover his shift? A little irritated at being left behind without a farewell, I gear up and get ready to go.

Just as I reach the door, I freeze when I hear murmurings on the other side. Two voices, one male and one female. With a furrowed brow, I lean forward and press my ear to the door. The man adds an inflection to his tone, causing me to squint. No doubt, it's Julian. But who is the other person? She sounds really familiar and I know I could just open the door and find out or dare a peek out of the window, but something tells me I shouldn't. It's when I'm about to give in and open the door that I can finally make out what they're saying.

"Wish I could say it's been nice seein' ya, but..." Julian trails off, sounding apprehensive. "You been in town for a while?"

"Yes," the feminine voice replies sharply, "I've been here for a couple of months now, Julian." The way Julian's name falls off of her tongue sounds like a curse and I flinch. Whoever this is, there's obviously no love lost between her and Julian. For some reason, that makes my stomach twist. Oh, _damn_. Am I getting protective over Julian? Gotta nip that in the bud.

“Why're you here?" Julian asks gruffly, "You know I don't want ya here, right girlie? You'd best move along. Now."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here for Mina Solis and not _you._ "

_Hold the phone._

That uppity voice? My blood turns to ice. Julian's talking to Celeste Frain and they're talking like they have history.

"Oh, yeah?" Julian scoffs, incredulous. "Never expected you two to be friends. "

“I never called myself such a thing." Celeste sounds subdued, sober.

“Hm. That so?” Julian slurs his speech, making it sound lewd and antagonistic. “Ain’t surprised. Wouldn’t take _you_ for the type to have friends. You're destined to be alone, little girl.”

Suddenly there’s a sharp smack of skin on skin and I’m wrenching the door open before this strange confrontation can escalate. “Frain,” I greet as I open the door, feigning mild surprise at seeing her. Her face is flushed red, delicate nostrils flared, and her hand falls to her side. And for his part, Julian looks unfazed- maybe even amused, despite the pink mark on his left cheek.

"Solis," Celeste ducks her head regally, the warm glow of the sun softening her harsh expression, but her eyes never leave mine. Can’t help but notice that she looks much better than the last time I saw her. ”Have you time to spare?"

"Time?" I question flatly, feeling the heat of Julian's stare on me. Although I want to grab Celeste by her shoulders and ask her why she’s picking _now_ of all times to meet me to presumably get this Hasmal job off of the ground, I’m in a bit of a pickle. I can either get one step closer to seeing the strange Celeste Frain out of the city, or I can oversee Julian’s work on the book. Unfortunately for the blonde, one of those is more self-serving than the other and I’m a selfish woman.

"Yes, some time to talk. Or are you busy?" Clear green eyes narrow as the blonde looks from my Lord to the bag I’ve slung over my shoulder.

_Oh, so you wanna act offended now that_ I'm _the busy one? Psh._

“Actually, I _am_ busy," I reply shortly, "but if you want to officially reserve my services, you can go through my handler, Isabela, like you _should have_ from the outset instead of just dropping by my home when you feel like it. It’s unrealistic for you to expect me to be at your beck and call. Anyway, I'm headed out now." I throw her a quick smile that’s more a sneer and hiss under my breath as I press my hand insistently against Julian’s back, " _Behave_."

“Farewell," Celeste calls coldly, none too pleased to be left on the doorstep of my dirty Lowtown home. She should’ve at least put a down payment on my services so I’d be more compelled to drop everything I was doing to serve her every whim. Oh, well. Maybe she’ll learn for the next time she wants to hire a criminal to take her to shady locales.

As I walk shoulder to shoulder with Julian, I can feel his eyes constantly razing over my face. Just when I’m about to snap, he asks, “What’s the job that woman wants you to do?”

We struggle to walk through the marketplace crowd to get to the appropriate alley that provides the shortest route to Darktown. People hawk their wares, maybe half the stalls here working without a vendor’s permit from the city. Some hands accidentally brush near coin purses while others do so purposefully. Each one is expertly batted away by myself and Julian, a searing glare or a threat the only thing that greedy hands manage to get. All the while, Julian waits expectantly. I can feel his anticipation hanging in the air. It almost makes me roll my eyes at his persistence. 

Once we’re away from the throng of people, I finally respond curtly, “If you _must_ know, she’s a potential employer who wants me to escort her outside of the city.”

Julian is quiet a moment, the sounds of our boots hitting against stone steps the only thing breaking the silence. His tread is far quieter than mine without the burden of a blade on his back and a knapsack hanging off of his shoulder. Every now and then I hear the distinct clink of a dagger on his belt hitting a stud on his jerkin. Honestly, I don’t know _why_ he wears the belt _over_ his jerkin… Maybe a fashion statement? I’ve usually preferred hiding all blades but my Lord.

_Since he isn’t talking, maybe I should ask him how he knows Celeste?_

“You really shouldn’t go anywhere with that woman,” Julian says, voice seeming to come from out of the blue after waiting far too long to respond. But I don’t think it was any sort of social ineptitude that stilled his tongue for so long, for we’re right outside of Anders’ clinic. It’s very convenient for him, that momentary lapse in conversation. It has me narrowing my eyes at him and shoving my knapsack into his arms with a bit more force than necessary.

“Oh?” I drawl. “Why don’t you tell me _why_ as you translate that text for me, hm? We’ll make an evening of it. You can tell me how you know Celeste Frain- how you seem to know _a lot_ of strange people whom I’ve crossed paths with recently- and I can decide for myself if I’ll be taking her job.”

Apprehension flickers in those dark brown eyes of his- clearly catching on to my unsubtle hint about the beach mage- and then I get to thinking that the universe favors him far more than it does me, because from across the dusty clinic Anders spots us and calls out, “Oh, Mina. Hawke wants to see you. You should get to his estate as soon as you can.” And Julian? The bastard smirks and turns on his heel to saunter on over to his post, leaving me to purse my lips in the clinic’s doorway.

_Son of a bitch._

* * *

By the time I make it to Hightown, Hawke has already left the estate on "urgent business," according to Bodahn. The dwarf tells me this with a strained smile, so whatever it is that Hawke is doing must be serious. Of course this ticks me off. If only I had come by earlier, maybe I could’ve caught him on time. Seeming to sense my poor mood, Sandal, Bodahn's boy, shows me a new enchantment he created for Hawke before asking me if I have any salamanders.

I quirk a brow at the blond boy. "Sandal, honey, that's the third time you've asked me this week. What's with this fixation on salamanders? Do you want a pet? Because there are a few friendly tomcats in Darktown that might make for better companions. I can catch one for you if you want."

" _Don't_ give any salamanders to him," Bodahn says urgently, coming from the kitchens with a goblet of ale for me and simply oozing parental authority. "I think that's where the _boom_ comes from with his enchantments," he cuts his blue eyes to a now bashful looking Sandal, "and we've been trying to cut back on _that_ , haven't we?"

I grin and take the goblet, "Oh, really? Why didn't you say so sooner, Sandal? Now I'm tempted to go looking for some."

Bodahn sighs, "Oh, no."

Because of my recent hobby of hovering over Hawke, I've seen Bodahn and Sandal Feddic almost daily now and Bodahn has learned that I'm probably a really bad influence on his son. Honestly, I would've probably made an awful babysitter if I hadn't been so busy working in food service back in my old life. I pretty much undermine authority figures at every turn: if someone of rank says _no_ , I say _yes_. 

Huh. Maybe _that's_ why I was always taking a broom to the head from my grandma? I'm surprised I never got permanent brain damage from _that_. Or maybe I did and that would explain why I make such shitty decisions and have a hard time concentrating… When I've settled in a chair in front of the fireplace, I turn to Bodahn before he can exit the main room and ask, "So, you don't know _where_ Hawke went?"

The steward turns toward me promptly and shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. He left in quite a hurry and-"

"Sandal, have you finished-" Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear. Hawke has burst rather unceremoniously through the front door, looking tense and distracted. His brow is creased and he looks like he's aged about ten years. He stops speaking mid-sentence and halts when he spots me.

I sloshed my ale down my front in shock when Hawke made his grand entrance and now Sandal laughs. I give the blond dwarf a pointed look that turns his laughter into quiet giggles before turning my scowl onto Hawke. "Good lord, simply saying your name must be a summoning spell or something!"

"Mina?" Hawke looks confused and more than a bit unnerved.

Immediately, I narrow my eyes at how he flexes his hands at his sides and won't meet my gaze. "Yes, _Mina_. Why are you being so squirrely?" I ask slowly as I stand. Bodahn is immediately taking the goblet from me and scurrying off to the kitchens. Sandal gives Hawke whatever it is he was working on, which looks an awful lot like a type of rune-bomb-thing I had smuggled into the city once, before he follows after his adoptive father.

Golden eyes meet mine and the mage sighs, "I was afraid you would show up."

An eyebrow arches instinctively. "Excuse me? Anders said you _called on me_.”

"Pardon me, that sounded rude." Running a gloved hand over his face, Hawke explains, “I _did_ call on you. However, I’m about to finish an unrelated job for the Viscount. Hopefully.” He adds that last part, going back to looking all high-strung.

"Yeah, I thought you might need help." Crossing my arms, I nod my head in his direction. "You seemed uneasy last night so I figured I could lend a hand.” Which is a weird thing to say, honestly. He’s seemed uneasy almost every night, hence my desire to stay until he’s so exhausted that he’s falling asleep where he sits.

Hawke doesn't respond immediately. The air is tense and he's flexing his hands again. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was about to run off. Finally, the mage declares, "I was hoping to take care of this quietly. The Viscount made it clear that he wanted no one but me on this task."

"Okay," I drawl and casually close the space between us to peer up into his face, "what's the job? You say it's a private affair but you also seem like you need to get something off of your chest. So, spill."

After looking torn, the mage relents, "The Viscount's son, Saemus, reportedly converted to the Qun and the Viscount believes Saemus' conversion to be an unwilling one." He nods his head in acknowledgment when I wince and continues, "I visited the Arishok who assured me the boy had converted of his own free will, however there has been a... complication."

_I already don't like the sounds of this._

"How much more complicated can it get?"

"Saemus wasn't at the Qunari compound and the Arishok had received a letter that said the Viscount was going to meet Saemus at the Chantry tonight. Of course that was suspicious- why would the Viscount send me to find his son if he already planned to meet him?” Hawke runs a hand through his hair. “I suspect Saemus is being used as a pawn by a Chantry zealot named Petrice. She was recently promoted to the position of Chantry Mother despite my warnings to the Grand Cleric." Hawke shakes his head, looking like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I came here to grab a vial of lyrium in case another ambush awaits me."

I gawk. " _Another_ ambush? Okay, no. Nuh-uh. I'm coming. Screw the Viscount and his oaths of secrecy."

Hawke purses his lips. "It _would_ be sensible for me to bring reinforcements…"

"Exactly. So, should I fetch someone else to tag along? Our favorite dwarven rogue, perhaps?"

"Mina, I can't ask you to serve as an errand-" When he sees the irritated look on my face, he cuts himself off with a sigh. "Yes, please. Varric can be quite convincing and I think I'm going to need all the charisma I can get."

"Well, this mission sounds trickier the more you talk about it,” I grumble, making my way to the door. “I’ll go get him while you gear up. Don’t you _dare_ leave without me.”

It doesn't take much convincing to get Varric to drop everything he's doing and come running to Hawke's aid. In fact, all Varric needed to see was my face and hear me say Hawke's name and he was already strapping Bianca to his back. We wait until nightfall to head to the Chantry. In the moonlight, Aveline crosses our path, presumably on a convenient patrol. We must be a grim sight because the redheaded guardswoman insists on backing us up after interrogating our mission out of us… 

Okay, out of _me_!

What can I say? I panicked! I thought we could use a friendly member of the Guard as an alibi should things go awry. Under normal circumstances, I would dodge the Guard. However, this is shady business (and this is _Aveline_ we're talking about) and if something bad were to befall the _Viscount's_ _son_ , who knows what position Hawke and Varric could be put in? Although my loose lips earned me a squnity look from Varric and a glower from Hawke, pious Aveline Vallen was pleased with my tattletale status and commended me on my commitment to looking out for everyone's best interests. 

So... there's _that_. She all but put a gold star sticker on my damn chest.

"Can you stop frowning? I'm _sorry_ , okay?" I hiss from my position next to Hawke. The mage doesn't even glance at me as we continue marching up the steps to the Chantry, glowering all the way.

_Well, ya blew it. Who the hell goes on a secret mission and then rats themselves out to a guard?_

Having never been a very religious person, being in any sort of temple or religious setting has never failed to make me uneasy. It's not that I fear being smote or anything, it's just the feeling of not belonging that prickles my skin. But being in the Chantry at night makes me uncomfortable for another reason: it's creepy as hell. The place is dimly lit from blood red candles that do nothing to chase away inky shadows. The high windows allow a filmy blue light from the moon in, which adds to the eerie atmosphere.

"There he is," Aveline murmurs and we all follow her critical gaze to a crouched figure at the foot of the Maker's statue. Judging by the downward curve of the woman's mouth, she doesn't like what she sees. I squint up at the figure. It looks like Saemus is praying, which is odd considering... Well, _can he_ follow the Qun and still pray in the Chantry? Heck if I know. All I do is say the nighttime prayer my grandma got me doing since I was a kid and that’s hardly a thing to do in the Chantry.

"Go on ahead. Lucky and I will cover the exits in case anyone decides to interrupt,” Varric says, copying Aveline's low tone. Honestly, I'm glad I don't have to get in the middle of some family affair even though I _did_ force myself onto this little quest. Jesus, just a few hours ago I was going to do some boring guard detail at Anders’ clinic and now I’m on a mission involving the Viscount’s errant son. Briefly, I wonder how far along Julian is with his translation…

As Aveline and Hawke make their way up a couple of flights of stairs to Dumar's son, I stage-whisper to Varric, "Sorry about ratting us out."

His lips curve up into a smirk. "Don't worry about it, Lucky. Everyone knows you always have Hawke on your mind, so of course you’d take precautions. Besides, it's foolish of the Viscount to think he can keep something as big as _this_ under wraps.” Varric hums, probably spinning a tale of political and religious intrigue in his head. Surely it will look bad that the Viscount’s son threw in with the ‘undesirables.’ Honey eyes shoot me a glance in the darkness. “By this time tomorrow, I wouldn't be surprised if word of this debacle spread all across Thedas despite Dumar’s efforts."

At the sound of a strange thump, Varric and I turn to I see Hawke step away from Saemus. Aveline looks grim. Her expression tells me everything I need to know. 

Saemus, the sniveling son of the Viscount whom I had aided Hawke in rescuing from mercenaries what feels like eons ago, is dead. Though I didn't personally know the kid, I'm dreading that Hawke is going to have to be the one to tell Viscount Dumar that a Chantry zealot murdered his son- because obviously that's what happened since all the evidence points to it. Even I can figure _that one_ out and I don’t even understand the political puppet shows they do down in the Hightown quarter.

It's like the Chantry is hellbent on getting Kirkwall blown off of the face of the planet by incessantly beating the wasp nest that is the Qunari. It's at that moment, when we're all focused on Saemus' lifeless corpse at Hawke's feet, that several figures step out from the shadows. Varric swears under his breath and we shoot each other a look. So much for taking point. You know, I'm used to seeing Templars looking all sinister, but it's a bit absurd for me to see a Chantry Mother wearing such an ugly expression.

"Serah Hawke," the woman, the obvious leader, feigns surprise even as she wears that smarmy smirk, "look at what you've done!"

_Ugh…_

I mentally high-five myself for getting Aveline involved because now Hawke has a strong alibi and this bitch doesn't have a leg to stand on. Had it just been me and Hawke? I'm nobody. I'm technically not even a citizen. I'd probably hang in the Gallows with the mage. But my pride is snuffed out when I see the woman brought along a little mob. And judging by her spiel, she killed Saemus for being a Qunari sympathizer and wants to nail Hawke for associating with the Qunari- something the Viscount _asked_ him to do. 

_Damn xenophobic zealots._

I suck on my teeth, a migraine coming on. We’re evenly matched here, which is unfortunate since I prefer to have larger numbers where Hawke is involved. And killing people in the Chantry? That’s sure to direct ire Hawke’s way no matter the circumstances. Too busy sizing up the group, I don’t listen to the Mother’s generic villain dialogue. My mind works on overdrive to find some out, some way to swing this situation so that the onus isn’t on Hawke to prove that he didn’t come here looking for trouble. Besides, who would believe that a _Chantry Mother_ would stoop to _murder_?

The Viscount can only provide so much protection for Hawke, considering so many people of influence have it out for the mage. Anxiety stirs in my gut, making it twist painfully. The thought of Hawke being in trouble has me clenching my teeth, blood pounding in my ears. There’s an unintelligible whisper in my ear and I blink, shake my head to chase it away. Lips curl and I damn the Viscount for putting Hawke in so many troubling situations. 

It's starting to get harder and harder to hear now. Harder to concentrate. There’s another, more insistent whisper and I look over my shoulder, alarmed. No one’s there. Beside me, Varric tosses me a strange look, probably one more “spooked Mina jump” away from telling me to knock it the hell off.

I offer the dwarf a sheepish grin, not really knowing what’s got into me, and nod my head back to the mob as a way of silently assuring him that my head is still on straight. The mouthy blonde is still talking. I try to focus on her. Something tickles behind my eyes; a rapidly building pressure. I'm starting to get concerned when my arms suddenly fly up out of reflex, blocking a downward strike from one of the men. I hadn't even noticed that the battle had begun.

Still, my ears feel like they’re plugged. Like I used a cotton swab to clean my ears and some of the cotton got stuck ‘cause you’re technically not supposed to use those things for that. My assailant is trying to throw his bodyweight behind his blade and unfortunately for me he’s no lightweight. I’m vaguely aware of how my boots slide against the Chantry’s smooth tile. I can hear Hawke fire off a spell despite the cotton in my ears. I focus on the man before me, eager to finish him off so I can get to Hawke.

“ _A Chantry zealot. He’s physically strong but mentally weak. A great vessel for your influence._ ”

That voice breaks out over the din of battle- clear as a bell, or more like a gong with how powerful it is- and I’m surprised no one can hear it. With a twist of my stomach, I realize no one can hear it because it’s in _my_ _head_. The zealot, not privy to my internal battle, takes the opportunity to strike again in my confused state. The steel blade clashes with dragonbone. I parry and he stumbles. I swing Slicer down but he recovers in time to have me deadlocked. He's stronger, the bastard. 

“ _Do not panic. You’ve the upper hand here,”_ the disembodied voice reassures me and I struggle not to cringe because it sounds like someone is talking directly into my right ear. _“This man’s strength is his weakness. He yearns for blood on his hands. He has no convictions, only the thrill of the fight and the feeling of momentary power over the weak. Prey on that._ ”

"C'mon!" I hiss and try to throw more force behind my blade to keep my ground. “I’m _not_ easy prey. There’s easier fun to be had in those people you call your comrades.” The man’s eyes narrow, I focus on the green of his irises. "Satisfy the bloodlust you can't seem to quench. Why else would you come to the _Chantry_ looking to kill?" He looks alarmed but I'm feeling more and more panicked as I begin to lose ground. Thighs quivering with the effort to hold him off, I find myself ordering, practically spitting on him, “ _Give in_. _Kill them_!”

I stumble forward as the opposing force relents, nearly falling to my knees. I practically sprain my neck with how quickly I turn to look at my would-be assailant, wondering why he let up and if I'm gonna be getting skewered. The man rounds on an archer who had stayed back. I'm confused for a split second before his body tenses up and in one forceful motion he wrenches his sword up, impaling his comrade.

I think "holy shit" echoes for a solid minute after I yell it. Across the room, Varric gives me a look before hurrying to aid Hawke and Aveline with the rest of the zealots. The rogue seems to be more than a bit creeped out when the turncoat follows on his heels, green eyes somehow focused and dull at the same time. I'm about to follow suit when the pressure behind my eyes builds to the point that it's almost blinding. It's like I'm having the worst migraine of my life, vision blurred and head pounding.

“ _This pain will pass. You did well. Next time, embrace me sooner and the pain will plague you no longer._ ”

I groan, taking a knee so that if I _do_ happen to pass out like a wimp, I don't have too far to fall. The sounds of battle- steel clashing and fireballs erupting- fades out into white noise. All I can hear is my heartbeat forcefully pushing blood into my ears. I feel impossibly hot and desperately want to rip my clothes off and demand Hawke turn me into an ice sculpture, but when I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm, my sleeve pulls up and all I can feel is ice cold sweat.

If I’m being honest… That might’ve been the quickest _deliberate_ compulsion of my life. Before, I had to work Doug and even Bart. I had to do a bit of purposeful prodding; jiggle the key in the lock for a bit, so to speak. This time, I was handed the key. Now I think I’m waiting for the inevitable possession and I’m not even wearing my Sunday best. It feels like I've been hunched over in a prone position for only a few seconds, waiting to get evicted from my body, when a hand gently rests on my shoulder.

A voice pierces through the dead air. "Lucky?"

Jerking away, I blink rapidly to clear my vision and see a very concerned dwarf hovering over me. I clear my throat nervously. "Ah, Shortcake. What'd I miss?"

His shoulders come up in a lazy shrug. "Just the whole battle, no big deal. However, your little friend did enough fighting for the both of you."

"M-My friend?"

A blond eyebrow quirks. "Yeah, the one who came to the Chantry to kill us."

I straighten and look around the deserted Chantry wildly. "What? Where is he?"

"He ran off after killing the last of his allies." Warm brown eyes peer at me closely.

Varric looks like he's about to say something else when suddenly he's tugging me by the elbow into the shadows. When I give him a curious look, he cocks his head in the direction of two women descending a staircase from what I can only assume to be the Chantry's living quarters. One of the women is that wretch Petrice (I huff a moment, disappointed that she didn’t join the fray) and the other is the Grand Cleric. Neither look pleased. Shit. _Of course_ Petrice would already be tattling to the Grand Cleric.

"Keep quiet," the dwarf orders lowly.

Just when I think things are looking awful, Hawke reminds me why he's such a powerful adversary: he clearly has the Grand Cleric's ear. And another mental high-five when the Grand Cleric acknowledges Aveline's status as Guard Captain to add more validity to Hawke's claims about Petrice's deception. By the time the exchange has ended and Petrice is properly chastened, I'm grinning like a school-yard bully. 

As the Grand Cleric leaves, I'm about to regress to a ten-year-old and hurry out of the shadows to rub it in Petrice's face that she got called out as a big fat liar (probably point at her and go, “Ha ha!”) when Varric's grip on my elbow only tightens further, as if he can read my juvenile thoughts and doesn’t approve. I turn to look at him, an argument on my tongue, just as a sickening _thunk_ echoes through the Chantry.

Whipping around, I look just in time to see Petrice fall to her knees, an arrow in her chest, before another arrow lodges itself in her forehead. And the one holding the bow is a Qunari- which I would think would be the thing to kill her, what with her bigotry, if that arrow hadn't been so damn accurate. I almost feel bad for having wanted to taunt the woman right before she was executed. And from how close Hawke and Aveline are standing to the woman, I also thank whatever deity works in this realm that that Qunari had killer aim- okay, really bad phrase for what just happened.

“Well,” Varric sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “things are about to get ugly. Ah, _uglier,_ ” Varric corrects himself before patting my arm and sauntering out of the shadows towards our noble leader.

Hawke has his head together with Aveline and they appear to be speaking urgently, faces grave. Though they're speaking in hushed tones, I hear Hawke ask Aveline to go fetch the Viscount and have him come down to the Chantry immediately. Just as Varric is within arms reach of the two, Garrett says suddenly, looking from Varric to me, "You two were never here."

Varric halts in his stride and nods grimly. "Understood."

"But-" I start and am immediately cut off.

"Mina, just," Hawke rubs his temples, "just wait for me back at the estate. _Please_.”

* * *

The walk to Hawke’s estate is filled with much contemplation. I don’t know what troubling thing to focus on more: The attempt on Hawke’s life, the fact that Kirkwall’s political shitstorm is picking up speed, or that I just experienced what my brother had told me about and I performed the fabled “guided” compulsion. Not wanting to disturb Bodahn or Sandal, I make a beeline for Hawke's room the moment I enter the estate and quickly shut the door behind me. Once I'm safely inside, I exhale loudly.

Honestly, I feel sick thinking about what could’ve happened to Hawke had he gone alone like the Viscount asked. Four against one with no alibi and an upset Daddy Viscount to answer to? He would've been crucified! And then _I_ had to go and give in to the crazy by turning one of the zealots against his own. Yeah, I'm sure that's going to come back and bite me in the ass. And to make matters worse, Varric _saw_. I mean, he's always known that I can do _stuff_ but I'm sure it's different seeing it first-hand.

Luckily, I’m able to talk myself off of _that_ cliff fairly quickly. There was no revulsion or fear in Varric’s eyes. Merely… interest? Morbid curiosity? Suppose he’s never seen an enthralled person before and he has a few questions. Well, I have a few questions, myself.

As a matter of fact, I’m still a little shocked with myself for accepting the aid of that alleged spirit. I hadn’t even questioned it. A hand was offered and I eagerly grabbed it, nearly leapt at it like a drowning woman. The creature’s advice was gobbled up hungrily and it hadn’t led me astray… Fingers twist into Hawke’s duvet and I plop down onto his massive bed. The canopy overhead looks like it yawns on forever in the dimly lit room.

_Is the dragon even a demon?_

Oh, _come on_! I can’t go second-guessing my gut instinct just because the demon helped me out of a tight spot _once_! Everything up until today has been evidence of this creature being a demon: The blood magic and rituals, the voices and strange dreams, the commands disguised as suggestions, the fact that said commands have been for me to _kill someone_ … Though, that someone _did_ turn out to be a threat. Sitting up on my elbows, I scowl at the lit fireplace. Soft crackling is all that I hear.

Full of nervous energy, I slide off of Hawke’s bed and begin pacing about his room. Under normal circumstances I might feel compelled to snoop, but I’m too caught up in my own head to carelessly cross personal boundaries. Part of me wants to pat myself on the back, ‘cause I _did_ call it. Didn’t I guess that the next time I heard that damn demon’s voice, it would be when I was in a life or death situation? I should start picking lottery numbers.

Eh. Well. Kirkwall doesn’t _have_ a lottery. Maybe I should start gambling? Placing bets on back-alley nug fights? Humor isn’t helping here. Though I’m trying to fight it back, there’s a distinctly tight feeling building in my chest that almost makes my heart stutter. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hawke comes home to find me face down in the middle of his damn room, dead on the floor because all of the stress finally got to me and I stroked out. What a way to go.

By the time Hawke finally _does_ get home, I’ve probably paced a trench in the middle of his room.

The second the bedroom door opens, I pounce. "What took you so long? Did everything go well? The Viscount doesn't blame _you_ , I hope, or I swear to God I’ll give that man the beating of a lifeti-"

"Everything went as well as could be expected." Hawke surveys me carefully, cutting my tirade off in the prime of its life. The fatigue melts from his face as he actually comes to realize that I'm in his room. Garrett closes the door behind him. He doesn't lock it. "May I ask why you were waiting for me in my quarters? I almost thought you hadn't come back."

I take a step back, face flushed. "Honestly? I thought I was going to have to pry answers out of you and didn't want to wake Bodahn or Sandal if I got carried away."

"Carried away?"

"I mean if I started raising my voice. It's not like I was planning on roughing you up or anything,” I grumble, toeing his elegant rug with my dirty old boot. “I’m not a _total_ thug…"

"I see. Please, have a seat." Hawke gestures somewhere behind me and I pivot around. As asked, I sit on one of the overstuffed chairs in front of Hawke's fireplace and he takes a seat next to me after putting his cloak away in an armoire and propping his staff against his bed- the movements are routine, humdrum; his nightly ritual. All is silent save for the crackling of the fireplace, the only indicator that it didn’t take him nearly as long to get here as it felt. 

Tension is palpable in the air. It seems to hang like a dense fog, blinding us to one another’s troubles. Empathy already paid me a visit and is long gone. Now that I know that Hawke isn’t in trouble with the Viscount, per se, I’m back to stewing in thoughts of the dream dragon and my disquieting compliance with its wishes thus far. Each time it has ordered something of me, I’ve rebelled… at first. But it’s like I always end up doing as told in the end. It makes me scowl.

_What? Don’t I even have free will anymore?_

“Things are getting more and more out of hand,” Hawke suddenly murmurs and I jerk to attention. Golden eyes are focused on the floor, the mage’s expression distracted and troubled. “I fear the Viscount may succumb to his grief. Any lapse in vigilance will certainly be pounced upon by the Arishok. He, too, is growing weary of this charade of civility and is growing bolder in his actions. It’s all coming to a head and I’m unsure of the outcome.”

Biting my lips, I refrain from speaking. Yeah, I guess I’d call it “bold” to have an assassin sent to the Chantry to cap Mother Petrice with the Grand Cleric in full view. I highly doubt the Arishok takes constructive criticism on his methods of exacting revenge, even from someone like Hawke. All of this political talk is making me itch, especially when I consider that Hawke is in the middle of all of it. Hell, it’s no big secret that the Arishok respects Hawke far more than he does the actual Viscount of Kirkwall.

That’s sure to make some people view the mage unfavorably… maybe even make them think he’s allied with the Qunari. Now more than ever, I feel like I need to be upfront with Hawke and not just because I have feelings for him. He’s in enough hot water as it is. I just don’t want to be the one to turn the burner to full blast. Because I know I’ve been warned- told by Julian that revealing what I am to “outsiders” never ends well.

However, I feel like if I leave all of these things unsaid, I’ll be leaving Hawke vulnerable to a multitude of terrors. And I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened to him _because of_ my Summoned status and _because of_ my sealed lips. If I want to keep him close- and _oh_ , do I annoyingly want to- I think I owe it to him to warn him about this storm that’s building momentum around me. 

Demonic possession isn’t something that’s debatable as being fact or fiction in this world, after all. It’s a plain and simple fact that it _happens_. And I might’ve opened myself up to it tonight- accepting the aid of a creature that likes to be referred to as a god and a goodly spirit. A creature that requires blood sacrifice for its little Summoned playthings to enter Thedas.

Pushing back into the chair, I roll my shoulders against the plush cushion and tentatively announce, “Um… I feel like I say this too often, but we need to talk, Garrett.”

The fact that I used his given name has Hawke straightening up in his seat. Now that golden gaze is fixed firmly on my face, searching for a clue as to what I’m about to say. When he can find nothing, Hawke furrows his brow and wonders, “What is it?”

“Considering that things are consistently blowing up in my face, I think I owe it to you to be honest to a painfully blunt degree,” I half-joke, lips quirked into a crooked smile that does little to ease the tension that enters Hawke’s face.

“Honest?”

“Like last time when I told you of my,” I wave my hand around like I can snatch the right word from the air, “ _otherworldly_ status. There have been some more recent developments.”

The dark-haired mage leans forward attentively. “What sorts of developments do you mean? Did you and Anders have a breakthrough in your research?”

“Not quite,” I slowly confess, fingernails drawing lines against the soft leather of my pants. The knees are worn. I’ll have to buy new ones soon. “The conclusions that we’ve drawn are still mostly in the realm of speculation.” I try not to sound too disappointed by that. That’s easy, considering I just sound nervous; my voice taking on an embarrassingly tremulous quality. “You may wanna sit for thi-”

I cut myself off. We stare at each other. Hawke has been sitting for the past half hour.

After a moment that feels like it lasts far too long, Hawke coaxes, “Go on, Mina.”

“Okay,” I say it on an exhale like I was holding my breath. I think I actually was. “Keep in mind that I don’t have all the facts but this latest episode of _Politicking in Kirkwall_ has me more worried about you than usual.” Dark eyebrows furrow, an insistence of his welfare more than likely on his downturned lips, but I press on. “So, since all of this blood magic stuff is a serious deal, I want to give you a heads up so it doesn’t hit you out of nowhere if it’s gonna hit you at all. Normally, I’d want until I know what’s what before burdening you with my nonsense, but… I feel like that would be a mistake.”

I’m stalling. He knows I’m stalling. Hell, I couldn’t be more obvious about it unless I put on a sandwich board saying so. But Hawke doesn’t lose his seemingly endless patience. Goody for him, ‘cause I know I would. “You aren’t burdening me, Mina,” he reassures me. “I want to try to help where I can and seeing as I’m admittedly out of my depth with regard to blood magic, I believe that the least I can do is be here to listen to and support you.”

_Does this guy want to be canonized by the Catholic Church when he’s dead or something?_

Instead of hitting him with snark that’ll go over his head, I purse my lips and drawl, “You’re too damn nice.”

“I respectfully disagree,” says the man whom I so easily forget was a mercenary once upon a time.

“And I respectfully disagree with your respectful disagreement.”

“Mina.”

Okay, so maybe his patience isn’t _completely_ endless. Fingers drum against my knee for an eternity. Rather than pulling my cowl down to cover my face, I pull it off entirely because I’m suddenly a little too warm. Anxiety prickles in my gut. “Fine, fine. So the thing is that I compelled someone tonight,” I finally admit and I don’t get the aghast reaction I was hoping for. There’s no pearl clutching or anything of the sort. I’m almost disappointed.

Shoulders relax a bit, Hawke’s posture slackening into a false sense of security. “I assumed as much. Why does that bother you? I thought you intended on practicing?”

Shit, he’s right. No wonder this isn’t playing out how I’d imagined. I nearly forgot that I told him what feels like eons ago that I was going to practice- hell, I practically tried to ask for permission since I consider him my moral compass. With a frown I sigh dramatically and further confess, “And thus continues my task of slowly and steadily revealing inconvenient truths to you.”

“What do you mean?” _Now_ he’s looking suspicious. There we go.

“I’ve already told you how I got to this world and that I compel people. But there’s more that I’m learning and more that I feel I should _probably_ reveal to you.” Considering the fact that all eyes are on him, of course. I don’t want to be one more reason why people talk behind his back and conspire against him. I don’t want my Summoned bullshit to somehow paint an even larger target on his back. In fact, with that logic, I should’ve told him all of this way, _way_ sooner than now. That realization makes me cringe.

“Go on,” Hawke insists, not an ounce of apprehension on his face now. “I’m listening.”

Too bad I can’t leech off of his confidence. That itchiness from earlier that got stirred up from Hawke’s ominous words has me scratching my chin and my head in turn which only serves to make Hawke’s dark eyebrows rise. “My brother visited me in my dreams several nights ago. That’s... a _thing_ that I’m accustomed to, I guess. In the Fade, I meet people,” I’m thinking of Julian, Mike, and Carrow in particular, “and creatures.”

That head of scruffy dark hair tilts. Hawke looks genuinely intrigued as he asks, “You enter the Fade and communicate with people there?”

Suddenly my left elbow joins the itching party and Hawke looks down at the fidgety action like he wants to get me fitted for those little mittens they make for babies to keep them from scratching their faces. “Yes but I don’t have any control over it. It’s not like I seek people out, it’s more the other way around.”

“I see. Did something happen there?”

“My brother told me to practice my compulsion so that I don’t do it on accident. He wants me to control it.”

“A reasonable suggestion,” Hawke naïvely responds and I bite my tongue.

“And to control it, he said I should listen for a spirit to aid me and that I should embrace it- let it in.”

“Oh.” The brunet looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself. Hell, he probably wants to ask me if my brother is out of his gourd.

A pleasantly strained smile twitches onto my lips. “ _Yeah_. Well, I think I did a little bit of that tonight. I heard whispers before the fight and then when I was in trouble, I heard one clear voice. It helped me to compel that man. Usually after compulsion I get ill, but not this time- I just got a splitting headache. And the spirit, I guess, told me that if I embraced it sooner the next time I compel someone, I won’t get sick at all.”

Hawke is quiet a moment and it’s almost like I can read his mind. He’s probably thinking that I shouldn’t start getting ahead of myself and panicking since mages can call on spirits to use certain spells- like healing spells- and that it’s not uncommon for spirits to aid people in their time of need. But this is markedly different. I’m not a mage and the spirit’s verbiage is strange. I know Hawke well enough to know that the little flash in his eyes when I said “embrace” sets an alarm off in his head. 

“What do you think about this?” He carefully asks, hands folded neutrally on his lap. Everything about his posture right now is nonthreatening. He wants me to be put at ease. Fat chance of _that_ happening. I’ve practically scratched off all of my damn skin by this point ( _except for_ my scar, that’s too tender to touch even though this newly developed nervous tic is nearly insatiable).

I sigh, “Look, I don’t want to stress you out. I just wanted to keep you abreast of the situation like you asked. Anders and I are still doing research and now I’ve got Julian translating a supposedly important text.” At Hawke’s frowning face, I sigh once more like it’s going out of style. “The thing is, I wanted to be upfront with you so that none of this comes at you from out of nowhere. And in the spirit of being _totally_ honest with you, I should probably reveal that I already got attacked by someone based on what I am but I don’t know much more about who he is or… anything, actually.”

Hawke’s face is eerily still. Where once he was all about not wanting to put me on edge, now he’s back to being an intimidating golem and I know exactly why before he even murmurs, voice rumbling, “You were _attacked_?”

“It was a while back,” I weakly defend myself, “when you sent me on that quest to get Harlot’s Blush and Dalish ink with Fenris and Anders.”

_And the award for saying exactly the wrong thing goes to…_

Me. Because now Hawke’s blaming himself for my assault and I can see it as plain as day on his face. Groaning, I stand and walk over to him where he sits like a statue on his chair. I come to stand behind him and drape my arms over his shoulders to lightly chastise right into his ear, “It _wasn’t_ your fault! Trust me, I think the bastard was out looking for me and would’ve stumbled across me sooner or later. Better on the Coast than my own damn doorstep.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Hawke snaps, dark eyebrows knitted together as he turns his face to scowl at me better. “You’ve just informed me that some man attacked you and-” The brunet’s sudden silence spells my doom but I don’t recognize it until it’s too late. “Is your attacker still at large?”

I roll my eyes at the memory of the utter trouncing Fenris and I got at that bastard’s hands. Just thinking about it brings a shamed blush to my cheeks. He sure was tenacious for a mage but I guess I can blame _that_ on his seemingly endless IV drip of lyrium. The next time I see him, ‘cause I know it’s probably gonna happen, I’ll have to find a way to keep him from guzzling that shit. With a scowl, I admit, “Unfortunately, yes. But it wasn’t for a lack of trying on my behalf.”

For a long time, it’s quiet. I slowly draw sloppy circles onto Hawke’s shoulder with my right index finger, chin resting on the top of his head and my left forearm resting on the back of his chair. His hair smells strangely balmy- the interaction of sweat with whatever soap he uses. I shift and rest my cheek on the top of his head, slowly growing sleepy. Eyelids droop. Gosh, I hope he goes to sleep soon so I can get back home and crash.

“You’ve been spending quite a lot of time here at my home,” Hawke observes, low voice piercing the silence, and my eyes snap open. Throat is cleared as I remove myself from the mage and return to my seat next to his. My feet throb the moment I’m off of them and I’m reminded of just how long this day has been. Sinking into the chair’s cushion, I contemplate his sudden statement. Yeah. I guess I _have_ been spending a lot of time here.

“Mmhm,” I drawl, eyes turning up to the darkened ceiling, “and I’ve enjoyed every second of it. You’ve quite a- uh, _homey_ home. Seeing that you actually get some rest is an added bonus.”

He clears his throat like it has an itch and I cut my eyes to him. Uh-oh. He only does that when he’s nervous. “Do you enjoy your home in Lowtown? Is it serving you well?”

A snort escapes me at his words. “Serving me well? I mean… I _guess_? It serves its purpose. It’s four walls and a roof, after all.”

“Are you attached to it at all?”

“What?”

“Do you have any sentimental attachment to it?” Hawke clarifies… I think. ‘Cause that doesn’t really clarify anything for me.

Thinking back to the murders that took place at my Lowtown home, I grimace. Of course I don’t have any sentimental attachment to that place. Then my eyes narrow, ‘cause what the heck kind of question is that? “Oh, God. Why are you asking me that? Do you know something that I don’t? Did my damn house burn down while I was out? Jesus, I _told_ Julian not to leave any candles burning but he likes to act like we live in the damn Chantry with all of his stupid-”

“I want you to move in with me.”

“Ca- Candles… _What_?”

I can tell that he’s trying not to let my horrified scream deter him. The dark-haired mage’s jaw tightens, golden eyes intense. His expression is reserved even as he so boldly repeats, “Mina, I want you to move in with me.”

“Did you hit your head and forget the talk that we just had?” At his confused and mildly insulted expression, I elaborate with great, exaggerated arm movements, “Y’know, the whole thing with me relying on a dubious spirit to compel people? The whole thing where some asshole mage has my number and might come knockin’ at any moment once he figures out where I live? Not to mention… Um… I’m sure there are other things!”

Expression pleasantly strained, Garrett informs me, “It’s all right if you don’t wish to live with me, Mina.”

“That’s not it! Hawke!”

“Yes?”

“ _Hawke_!”

Those dark eyebrows slowly rise. “ _Yes_? Are you going to say something more?”

“Why the _hell_ do you want me to live with you after everything I just told you?!” Whoa. When did I stand up? A blush creeping up my neck, burning my skin like fire, I scoff, “Is this some sort of witness protection program that you’re running out of your house? ‘Cause I can assure you that rogue mage isn’t _that much_ of a threat!”

_Liar._

Hawke squints and I almost shamefully sit back down because I know I’m being a hysterical asshole. “Witness-? No. I’m inviting you to _live with_ me. I’m not trying to use this as an excuse to monitor your movements, Mina.”

“Well…” I swallow hard. Rather, it’s hard to swallow. Despite my screeching, I know this isn’t coming out of left field. Hawke has made very, very passive remarks over the past few days that have hinted at him building up to something like this. It was just light requests for me to stay the night, citing the late hour and the inconvenience of the distance between our homes, and I brushed it off each time. Cheeks on fire, I lamely mumble, “I’m not the type to play house, Hawke.”

“And I’m not looking to play.” His words, though he may not find them terribly profound, strike me like lightning. At my furrowed brow, the tension evident in the way I’ve begun nervously tapping my foot, the mage sighs and confesses with a stern frown and reddened cheeks, “I’m asking this of you because I enjoy having you near and I’d rest easier at night knowing that you were safe by my side.”

“O-Oh…” Am I stupid? Don’t answer that. Because where usually anything that even remotely _hints_ at commitment has me panicking and packing my bags while I’m already halfway out of the door, Hawke’s words almost seem to lift a veil from my eyes that I hadn’t realized was there. I feel like I’m suddenly seeing him with remarkable clarity. With a blink, I heavily sit back down on my chair. This is a bizarre epiphany. “Well, when you say it like _that_ …”

“I want to support you throughout these issues that you’re currently experiencing. I want to be by your side to render aid if I can. I want to be more readily available for you to lean on me,” Hawke ardently explains.

A sigh escapes me and I look away. There he goes with that hero complex of his. Then again, I’m hardly one to talk. But Hawke is worse because he even wants to help the undeserving. And me? I’m much more selfish. Because even if I might not deserve to have someone want to be there for me as keenly as Hawke wants to, I’ll take it like I do. My tired stare returns to him and I haughtily point out, “The whole damn city is leaning on you, Hawke.”

“And the only one that matters to me, out of the entire lot, is you.”

“And Carver, obviously,” I weirdly feel the need to add, like adding other people to his list of individuals he cares for will lessen how much he cares for me and maybe keep me from panicking. Hawke merely smiles grimly in response and I stupidly go on to add, “And your friends.”

For a moment, Hawke just watches me. Again, he’s trying to look unassuming; posture relaxed, hands on his lap. The sharpness in his eyes betrays his attentiveness. Damn, I wish he’d blink just _once_ instead of acting like a cat in a staring contest. Do his eyes never get dry? As I begin to fidget under his unwavering stare, Hawke suddenly assures me, “It doesn’t have to mean that anything in our relationship has changed, Mina.”

I almost laugh. “ _Doesn’t_ it? Moving in together is a big deal, Garrett.” Like, a _huge_ deal! Typically! No one has ever asked me to move in with them before. Then again, I haven’t ever dated anyone for longer than I’ve been romancing Hawke and I’ve never had such a fulfilling _friendship_ outside of the one I have with him, excluding Chey and Is since those friendships never turned romantic. Needless to say, I’m a _bit_ out of my element here.

The dead giveaway to Hawke must be the way I’ve been bouncing my knee up and down since I sat. Give me some credit! If this was happening like a year ago I would’ve already thrown myself out of Hawke’s bedroom window and skipped town. So… Why haven’t I done that yet? This realization stills my knee. Oh, _no_. I’ve got myself far too attached to this damn, uppity mage to the point that I’m more anxious of this potentially not working out than of Hawke looking for commitment from me.

_How did this happen?!_

I’m not feeling ill at the idea of being with someone, one person, long-term. I’m feeling ill at the idea of not being up to snuff for that one person after all this time. How many annoying habits do I have? I know I’m really particular about how I make the bed and I can already tell that Hawke’s habit of not having a cleared desk is going to bug the hell out of me. We’re going to annoy each other until we re-learn to hate each other. That’s how this is going to go-

“Are you quite all right?” Hawke’s sudden, concerned voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I realize, hands aching, that I’ve been gripping the arm rests of this chair and I’ve practically fused my back into the cushion with how I’ve been pushing myself back into it. Throat constricts painfully with a dry swallow. The dark-haired mage offers me a compassionate smile, “Mina, I understand if you do not wish to-”

“I’ll go get my things.” His eyes are bright but his expression is apprehensive and I find I can’t maintain eye contact anymore. ‘Cause I know I look like a weirdo for responding so abruptly right after acting like I was just watching someone get tortured right before my very eyes while I was having an epiphany that Hawke knows nothing about.

“Mina, the _last_ thing that I want to do is pressure-”

“ _No_. I…” I have to pinch the bridge of my nose and collect my thoughts. A pros and cons list has been made in my head at warp speed. What better way to keep an eye on Hawke and make sure he’s actually taking care of himself? And if this doesn’t work out…? Well, I’m an adult. A little heartbreak never killed anyone. Usually. Besides, it's not like I'm marrying the guy or anything. With a shrug that tries to make me look far more flippant than I am, I admit, “I like knowing that you’re okay and that you aren’t alone.”

The mage’s expression softens and I go red. “Mina…”

“Don’t get all misty-eyed like that or you’ll make me cry. I’m very impressionable!” Hawke chuckles and I smile, apprehension on my face. “This isn’t an act of pity. It’s more selfishly motivated than anything. I love spending time with you, talking all through the night, telling you jokes, and being sure that I’m close enough to protect you. Plus, I wanna see how quickly you tire of me,” I add with a snarky grin when I realize I’m getting far too sentimental. “I give you three weeks, tops, before you’re booting me out of your house.”

“I would never do such a thing,” Hawke insists with a stern frown, though now his posture is truly relaxed.

“Uh-huh. _Sure_ , Hawke. What if I get a cat?” The mage squints at me and reminds me that he had a cat when he and his family lived on a farm back in Lothering and I snort. “Well, when you _finally_ come to your senses, you’ll still have my blade by your side so there’s no worry about that. Anyway, I don’t have a lot of stuff, so it shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back before sunrise.”

“No. Don’t go,” Garrett calls right as I heft myself off of the chair, exhaustion evident in every movement. “Stay tonight and in the morning I’ll have your possessions brought over.”

“I can get them myself,” I grumble, toeing the fancy carpet on his floor. “In all my life- er, _lives_ \- I’ve never hired movers. I don’t like strangers touching my things and I don’t see the sense in paying someone to do something that I can take care of myself. Like haircuts, taxes, assassinations, yard work…” I trail off under Hawke’s unamused gaze.

“Very well. But will you stay with me tonight?”

I loudly clear my throat, eyes finding their way to the ceiling. “If you _insist_ , then I’ll, uh, go get my belongings in the morning and, yeah, I’ll stay here tonight.”

Looking very pleased with himself and his stellar negotiating skills, Hawke offers, “I’ll go with you in the morning.”

I snort, “For _what_? Honestly, Hawke, what’s the worst thing that can happen between the time I leave to gather my things in Lowtown and bring them here to Hightown? It’ll take like… three hours if I goof off.”

Hawke reluctantly concedes once I fix him with a pout and I smile triumphantly before engaging in our still fairly new ritual where I talk his ear off about where I came from and regale him with stories of my absolute stupidity, which always earns me a rumbling, good-humored chuckle from the mage. Golden eyes blink slowly, fatigue catching up with him. "While you're away, I'll make room for your belongings."

A smirk curls the corner of my mouth. "Oh? In your armoire, too?" Hawke furrows his brow and I get out of my seat to move to his armoire to prove a point. Throwing open the small doors, I gesture pointedly. "I highly doubt that. You've a cloak in every shade of black and red known to man. There's no room for my things."

The mage's cheeks turn one of those shades of red before fixing me with a scowl. "In my defense, I didn't shop for those."

"Right," I hum. That golden gaze remains on me. Fingers tug at the ends of my top. After a moment, I clear my throat and wonder, "Are you ready to go to sleep? I think I almost had you nodding off before I addressed your _terrible_ cloak hoarding."

All I get is a dismissive huff and the mage is getting to his feet, day clothes removed and sleep wear pulled on. It’s strange to wind down in a bed that isn’t mine but Hawke’s is _far_ more comfortable than I could've imagined. I watch him nod off, a contented smile on his lips. Curling up to his side, I slowly follow suit. Despite my gibing, which was meant to buy me time to explain my change in housing to judgmental Julian, _a lot_ can happen in the span of a few hours. Especially in a political pressure cooker like Kirkwall. Everyone is reminded of that fact the very next day.


End file.
